


Chitty Chitty Bang Bang

by BecauseHeWasReading



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BAMF John, Case Fic, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Crack, Genius John, Getting Together, M/M, Mean Sherlock, My First Fanfic, Other, Passive-aggression, Pre-Slash, Sassy John, Slow Build, Smart John, Snarky John
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-09
Updated: 2018-02-22
Packaged: 2018-08-29 23:31:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 34,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8509840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BecauseHeWasReading/pseuds/BecauseHeWasReading
Summary: Later John wonders if it was fate, destiny, or whether it was a crazy random happenstance that caused him to look across the street at that exact moment. Because as he raised his eyes to gaze at the shops across the street, he saw a face that he honestly didn’t expect to see again outside of a creepy evil secret warehouse or local swimming pool. At that moment, he looked up from his disappointing coffee and he saw him, London’s favourite consulting criminal: Jim Moriarty.





	1. Doll on a Music Box

**Author's Note:**

> Hi Everyone!  
> So, after years of reading Sherlock fanfics, I have finally decided to post something of my own. I am a fan of the Jim/John rare-pair, but most of the stories are dark, so I thought that I would try and write something that was a little more fluffy for our consulting criminal and his army doctor. This is my very first fanfic, and I actually wrote this a year ago after a particularly difficult midterm exam and it has been sitting in my Google Drive ever since. Hopefully you guys like it! 
> 
> I own nothing of the Sherlock fandom, just my own creativity and sass.

_“What do you see, you people gazing at me? You see a doll on a music box that’s wound by a key”_

_- Truly Scrumptious_

John Watson let the door slam behind him as he angrily made his way down the stairs and roughly pulled on his black leather jacket. This wasn’t the first time that Sherlock had pissed him off so much that he needed to get some air, but today easily took the cake. Sherlock had the audacity, the AUDACITY, to say that he was just as useless and as stupid as Anderson in front of the whole of Scotland Yard! Anderson! The man who a few weeks ago had spent half an hour trying to tighten the screw on the base of his torch by turning the screw left. LEFT. Righty-tighty, lefty-loosy, how could he possibly have survived to adulthood without knowing that simple fact? Trained monkeys have accomplished more amazing feats than that utter waste of space, and Sherlock dares to compare him to ANDERSON!

And John would have been able to brush it off, or at least give Sherlock the silent treatment about it, if it were not for the circumstances that led to said comment in the first place. Since the day they met, John had been intrigued by Sherlock’s “Science of Deduction”, and over the last five months he had been actually been reading the posts on that bloody website and had started to picked up a few things. Which ultimately led to The Argument. For some reason, people have come to the conclusion that John Watson solely exists to be the leading witness to Sherlock’s outstanding performances of brilliance, and ‘ooo’ and ‘ahh’ in all the right places. WRONG. He was John Hamish Watson, Captain of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers, served three years in Afghanistan, was a veteran of Kandahar, Helmans, and medical doctor from Bart’s BLOODY hospital! He had suffered through bad days, witnessed unspeakable horrors, and while he has been called many things, useless was definitely not one of them. So comments about him being a lap dog or Sherlock’s pet set him on edge and made his fists clench. But, in the long run, it was all worth it because he thought that Sherlock held him in a higher regard than the general masses.

But boy was he wrong.

John had been dragged out of bed at the God-awful time that is 4 in the morning to deal with “A number 8 John! Hurry!” So John barely had time to put on his favourite oatmeal jumper before he was ushered into a cab and was speeding off towards the next crime scene. Lestrade and the team had already been at the scene for a few hours, if the bags under Lestrade’s eyes were any indication. John walked up the three flights of stairs following Sherlock to arrive at the victim’s flat. Anderson and Sally were huddled in a corner near the body, taking notes and muttering to each other about how “the Freak and his Boy” had finally arrived on the scene. Sherlock sent them a glare as they both made their way towards Lestrade to hear the reason why they were up at this unholy hour. There was a woman, mid thirties, lying facedown on the floor in a short red cocktail dress but with no outward signs of injury. She was lying in front of her easle that had an almost completed painting on it. Lestrade began describing what they knew about the body so far, and John tuned into the conversation. “So we have Mrs. Giselle Clarke, she was a painter who was last seen at an art gala downtown yesterday at around 6:00 pm, where she was a main speaker and attended dinner. Her boyfriend, who the doorman identified as Thomas Franklin, drove her home at around 10:45pm”. Sherlock, looking around the scene and seeing nothing of great significance, began to whine, “But you promised that this was an 8, why is it an 8?”

“Calm your wild stallions Sherlock, the reason why it’s an 8 is that the doors and windows were locked, and the video footage in the hallway shows that no one entered or left the apartment after the boyfriend left. Time of death has been estimated at 1:00 am, and the woman that lives in the floor directly below this called it in because there were sounds of bowls falling and a large bang. There are no indications of what could have killed her” Lestrade said, wiping a hand over his face in exhaustion. Sherlock’s eyes lit up, and he began to look around the room for any clues. You could practically hear the legion of hamsters running in tandem on their wheels in his mind as he paced, Belstaff flapping dramatically behind him. Paintings littered the room, and some were still in various stages of drying along the walls.

John, however, decided to began by looking at the body, after all, he’s a bloody army doctor after all. Head, shoulders, knees, toes: it’s more than a nursery rhyme, and that’s usually how John starts his own ‘little investigation’ when he goes along with Sherlock. After a few minutes of looking at the body, John came to the conclusion that Clarke must have had some sort of allergy, as there was a small circular bruise on her thigh close to her knee with a small scab over it that was not covered by her dress. This could indicate that she had some sort of allergic reaction in the last few days and needed to use her epipen. “However, that could not have caused her death, seeing as the reaction is old” John concluded, and he began to look at the victim’s face to see if there were any signs of mischief to be found there. He looked at Clarke’s face, and noticed that there was a redness around her eyes, nose, and mouth. John paused for a moment. “But that doesn’t make sense. If the allergic reaction was a few days ago, given the healing of that bruise, the redness of being exposed to an allergen should have gone down already...but clearly there has been some sort of irritant that she has inhaled…”

“Now, what could she have inhaled that could have caused this redness? I’d be willing to bet an entire plate of Mrs. Hudson’s chocolate biscuits that whatever caused this redness must have been airborne and her cause of death” “Now where could it come from that no one would have noticed it?” John thought. He got up off of his knees to see Sherlock looking at some sort of fungus growing in the victim’s fridge. “What is it with this man that makes him obsessed with mould?” John thought as he shook his head in exasperation. “She couldn’t have moulded herself to death, Sherlock” John called out, and Sherlock threw him a scowl as he went back to looking at his precious mould.

“Even if the mould was the thing that caused this reaction, she would have had to sit in front of it for hours, and I don’t think she’s kept her head in a fridge...oh my gosh!” John stopped mid-thought as he quickly looked over to the paintings that were almost finished drying on the wall. He noticed that all of the paintings were done in specific colours, a blue sky filled one canvas, an orange field danced across another blown by an invisible wind, and his eyes trained on the almost-completed painting of a forest that was sitting on the easel that Clarke was found beside. He noticed that at the bottom of the painting, the forest floor was a dark green except for a few splashes of what at first glance appeared to be red paint, but was so out of place with the painting that it could be nothing other than blood. “Blood…she must have coughed blood when the irritant was already in the further stages of killing her, and the chemical would have vaporized into her breathing air as the paint dried, slowly poisoning her as she worked! Goodness knows how long she sat there painting with the windows closed, and that was probably long enough for the person who gave her the poisoned paint to get away and have a perfectly solid alibi”. John started to look around the flat for any indications of where the victim could have gotten the paint from when it dawned on him. He walked past Sherlock, who was currently analyzing the victim’s shoe and said “Lestrade, you said that the victim was a Mrs. Clarke, but that her boyfriend dropped her off… what happened to her husband?” Lestrade looked down at his clipboard and said “Mr. William Clarke divorced Mrs. Clarke last month, and she got almost everything in the split. I have here that he had taken possession of some rare paints that they purchased in the tropics, but she sued and the judge ordered William to return the paints a few weeks ago, why do you ask?” John exclaimed “It must be the husband!” and proceeded to explain how the paints must have been tainted with poison when the husband gave it back, and to check the husband’s records for purchases of poisonous aromatic chemicals.

As John was explaining his perfectly valid rationale, Sherlock stormed over to the pair and glowered at John. “John… are you seriously proposing that? You must be thicker than Anderson for making that up! The mud on her shoes clearly states that she has been indoors for the last week, and the redness of her eyes and mouth is consistent with having inhaled the spores from the mould in her fridge” Sherlock exclaimed, shooting John an angry glare. Just before he was able to launch into another tirade, Lestrade stepped in front of Sherlock and and shouted “Boys! Settle down! Sherlock, I have to admit, John’s theory sounds a lot more plausible than your mould theory, I’ll be getting the results from the lab back soon and we can see if she had chemical residue according to John’s theory or some sort of...evil poisonous spore…as Sherlock suspects” Sherlock retorted in a snide tone “Oh of course John’s right, because he’s so brilliant and has solved soo many cases and doesn’t just stand there and gape like a fish half the time.” Red flashed in front of John’s eyes and he finally lost it. “Fine! Sherlock, you arrogant, self-centered prat, let’s see who’s right. Lestrade, call me when the reports come in, and whether Sherlock’s ludicrous theory about killer spores is right”. John yelled.

He turned on his heel in a way that would have made Bill Murray proud, and proceeded to make his way out of the building, fists clenched. All of this takes him to where John Watson is now: striding down the street with his jaw clenched trying to find the nearest cafe that is open at 6:00am so that he can drown his frustrations in a hot caffeinated beverage. When John finally finds a cafe and sits down, he checks his watch and realizes that “It’s already 7:00! Time certainly flies when your flatmate is being an arse”. He greets a waitress that has no business being as happy as she is on a day as horrible as this, and orders an extra large coffee as he stares at the other customers, not that there are many. Once it arrives, John stares into his coffee as if it has personally offended him. It’s not John’s fault that he has always been able to retain information like a sponge, much to the chagrin of his father. John was just better at hiding his capacity to amass knowledge, unlike a certain ‘sociopath’. John had been able to satisfy his love of knowledge by pursuing medicine and joining the army, nothing like a side of adrenaline with your quote of the day, am I right? But after his injury and prompt dismissal from the army, he felt adrift and it was Sherlock’s deductions that became the fuel that his idle mind craved. But clearly, Sherlock has been training for years in order to be a royal prat, and nothing short of a miracle was going to be able to change that. John was much more than a pretty face, and maybe it’s time for more people to realize that.

Later he wonders if it was fate, destiny, or whether it was a crazy random happenstance that caused him to look across the street at that exact moment. Because as he raised his eyes to gaze at the shops across the street, he saw a face that he honestly didn’t expect to see again outside of a creepy evil secret warehouse or local swimming pool. And at that moment, he looked from his disappointing coffee and he saw him, London’s favourite consulting criminal: Jim Moriarty.


	2. At the Helm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which John tries to make a hasty exit, fails, and receives an offer he can't refuse, all in the span of 5 minutes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Oh my goodness, I can't believe all of the positive responses and the kudos that I've received for the first chapter. Sorry this has taken so long to post, I have had so many assignments due that I haven't had a chance to write. I hope you guys enjoy! :) As usual, I own nothing except for my own imagination.

_“When I’m at the helm, the world’s my realm, and I do it stylishly” - Grandpa Potts_

_Later he wonders if it was fate, or destiny, or whether it was a crazy random happenstance that made him look across the street at that exact moment. Because as he raised his eyes to look at the shops across the street, he saw a face that he honestly didn’t expect to see again outside of a creepy evil secret warehouse or local swimming pool. At that moment, he looked, and he saw him, London’s favourite consulting criminal: Jim Moriarty._

Now, John doesn’t know if there’s some sort of protocol for the situation that he’s just found himself in. “What To Do If You See Your Deranged Flatmate’s Equally As Deranged Arch-Nemesis That’s Not His Brother Talking On The Phone Across The Street” is not a book that one can simply take out of the local library, and just the title would make anyone’s head spin. Luckily, the perimeter of the café was surrounded by a large hedge, and John wonders whether hiding behind it ranks top ten on that list, or if throwing his coffee on said archnemesis is a possible option that won’t result in his untimely death. So, John opts to implement a strategy that benefited him while in the army: stay back, gather intel, and evaluate whether immediate action is needed. Thus, John becomes an unexpected eavesdropper to London’s own Mr. Jim Moriarty as said crime lord stopped to stand at the intersection of the street facing away from the café.

“What do you MEAN you have a job in Morocco?” John hears, and he unconsciously leans closer to the foliage to hear more of that Irish accent.

“...I don’t CARE that I sent you there, who is going to meet them with me at lunch if you’re too busy playing assassin-”

“...Yes, I KNOW you are actually a real assassin–”

“Do not SASS me Sebastian Moran, I know exactly-”

“Fine, be that way! I’m going to get some of that coffee you like from the shop by Tesco and you can reconsider your insubordiation!”

John’s eyes widened as he realized that he was in the exact café that Moriarty was about to grace with his presence, and let out a string of curses that would have made a sailor blush. He started to panic, threw down some pounds to cover his coffee, and he made his way towards the exit. John hoped that he would be able to make it out the gate and down the street before Mr. Moriarty concluded his phone call and turned around to enter the café. However, just as John was about to walk through the gate, he was stopped short by the very man he wanted to avoid.

“Oooohhh Johnny Boy! How lovely to see you!” Moriarty sang as he walked up to where John was standing frozen in between the gateway.

“Could this day get any worse?” John thought as he exhaled loudly. John spun on his heel and turned to face the criminal mastermind. Moriarty had not changed much since their encounter at the swimming pool, but instead of his infamous Westwood he was sporting charcoal grey trousers and a navy blue sweater that fit snugly across his chest. Even though the criminal mastermind was not wearing his ‘suit’ of armor, John had to admit that Moriarty still conveyed the same aura of danger to those who surrounded him.

“Hello Mr. Moriarty” John said, refusing to show any weakness in front of the man in front of him.

“Oh Johnny boy, that’s not how you greet an old friend! It’s Jim to you, honey. You should have gotten my number from Sherly after our little date at the pool, we could have had a nice chat.” Jim said as he placed his phone in his pocket and stepped closer to John, a glint in his eye as he reflected upon the previous circumstances of their previous meeting. John sniffed, having put up with enough geniuses today to last a life time, met Jim’s eyes challengingly and replied, “Well, Jim, I would have called, but I’m rather satisfied with the new operating system at Bart’s, and I haven’t been having any trouble so I won’t need your services.”

Jim stared at John in confusion for a moment, but then his eyes lit up with mirth as he let out what he would later deny as being a giggle.

“Oooo Johnny Boy, you ARE full of surprises. Yes, I’ve done away with the Jim from IT disguise for now, but you’d have to agree that it was a rather brilliant disguise. From what I recall, it did catch your eye before your flat mates.” Jim replied, remembering the definite once-over John had given Jim from IT before he revealed himself to be Molly’s boyfriend.

“I’m not actually gay” John protested.

“Fine my grumpy little bisexual, say what you like, but you have to admit that you thought that Jim from IT was totally worth a call back in the morning” Jim insisted, a malicious gleam in his eye as he continued to bait the frustrated soldier. John was surprised that Moriarty was able to pick up on his bisexuality, which Sherlock had never picked up on in his deductions of John’s character.

“Think whatever you want, Mr. Moriarty. As fun as this was, I actually have things to get done today. I would say have a great day, but that would mean the end of the free world as we know it. So...have an uneventful day and a boring evening.” John concluded, trying to push his way past the criminal mastermind. John was stopped from his poorly orchestrated escape by a hand with a steel-strong grip on his arm, and he reflexively twisted out of the grip as his army training demanded and started to walk away. Jim’s eyes lit up at the display of self-defense, and John was about to walk away when Jim called out in a sing-song voice, “Wait Johnny Boy! I actually have a point to this discussion, I have a favour to ask of you. if you are interested. I could even make it worth your while.”

John hesitated, and cursed his unwavering sense of curiosity and the slightly darker part of him that thirsted for danger. So, he turned yet again to face Moriarty and see what the hell the genius was going on about so he can get on with his day. When he looked back at Moriarty, John felt his stomach drop, as Moriarty had the exact same gleam in his eye and smile on his face as the Grinch when he got a truly wonderful, awful idea. As a true testimony to John’s inner courage, John decided to take the plunge and ask, “What favour could I possibly do for you? You are the one with the underground criminal empire. I’ve never even shoplifted before.”

“Oh Johnny Boy, it's nothing you wouldn’t feel uncomfortable doing. You do a small favour for me, and I will offer you something I have never offered anyone before: I will owe YOU a favour.” Jim said, growing more serious as he got to the end of his proposal. John was about to deny Jim right off the bat, but stopped himself short when the mastermind stated exactly what he would receive for doing whatever this favour was.

Jim continued saying, “Of course, you must never mention that you did me a favour to ANYONE, or it will result in not only your immediate death, but also the death of those you hold near and dear.”

Curiosity spiked, after a few moments of silence John replied, “I’m not saying that I’m agreeing, but I would need to know exactly what you are expecting from me before I sign on to anything. You said that it’s nothing I would feel uncomfortable doing, but I believe that your definition of ‘comfortable’ and mine differ greatly.”

John wanted to know exactly what the mastermind was thinking of in case a call to Mycroft was needed to protect national security. Jim was surprisingly silent for a few moments, as if he was deciding whether he should go through with his decision to ask John for his help.

Jim exhaled loudly, and mumbled “Ineedyoutopretendtobemyboyfriendinfrontofmyparents”. John blinked, and asked, “What did you just say?”

Jim squared his shoulders, and looked John straight in the eye, and asked again “I need you to pretend to be my boyfriend in front of my parents”.

 

Well, that was definitely NOT what John was expecting.

 

John couldn’t believe his ears, and stared blankly at Jim for a few moments while he contemplated the proposal given to him by the same genius that was now looking at the pavement as if it held the solution to his current dilemma. John realized that this must have been the same problem that Jim had just been discussing with whomever Sebastian Moran was on the phone, and that Jim truly needed a stand-in for a boyfriend that he had clearly made up in order to appease the parents that somehow managed to raise a criminal mastermind. And damn it, John was actually considering the madman’s proposal.

Pretending to be a person’s boyfriend is not a concept that was new to John, how do you think that Harry and Clara were able to have a relationship while Harry was still living at home? Over the years, he has pretended to be the significant other for many co-workers in order to appease overprotective parents, deter creepy coworkers, and stop chains of blind dates. So, he definitely had the skill set of how to sustain the fiction of a devoted partner. It was the ‘favour’ that he would get at the end that was one of the major selling points of the deal. Having someone like Sherlock Holmes owe you a favour had its perks because if you were in a jam he would definitely help you out...well most likely...well if there wasn’t a more exciting case going on. Even owing a favour from Mycroft Holmes would be worth its weight in gold because his name opens doors and could get you out of most situations.

But a favour from Mr. Jim Moriarty himself? That was priceless. His name is the one that people fear to speak; the man is practically the Lord Voldemort of the underworld but with a very nice nose. A favour from Jim Moriarty could be cashed in despite the circumstance, without hesitation. John knew that however big that he thought Jim Moriarty’s criminal network is, it is probably twice as large and then some. So having an unnamed, unbounded favour that could be cashed in by the most powerful man in London would most definitely have its perks, and who knew what situation John would find himself in where this favour may be the difference between life and death.

However, the ultimate selling point of the whole proposal that prompted John towards his next action was the fact that pretending to be the boyfriend of his flatmate’s archnemesis-that-was-not-his-brother would royally piss Sherlock off.

So, as long as John was going to hell, he would at least do it stylishly.  And who honestly knew more about fashion that Mr. Of-Course-This-Is-Westwood himself.

John exhaled, stuck out his hand, and said confidently, “On those terms, Mr. Moriarty, we have a deal.”

Jim looked up at John in surprise and said “Oh Johnny Boy, it seems like you consistently aim to surprise me. Ok, first thing’s first, you are NOT meeting my parents in that jumper.”

John was surprised when he saw a genuine smile on Jim’s face as the same consulting criminal that not two minutes ago threatened to kill him started rattling off about jumper styles and what John’s colours were. Jim’s eyes lit up, his eyes crinkled, and he seemed to relax and transform into something that was much more authentic than “Moriarty” or even “Jim from IT”. Gone was the straight shoulders, the predator stance, and the look that could pierce armour. The man standing in front of him was someone he had never seen before, and John thought that he could possibly be friends with a man like that, or perhaps more.

Little did John know, that this was the last time he would ever refer to Jim as “Mr. Moriarty” in his mind, and the soul in front of him would later be known simply as “John’s Jim”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So.... I hope you guys liked this latest update, and I will try and get the next update posted as soon as I can. :) Kudos and comments are always welcome!


	3. Running Wild

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which John goes on a shopping spree, learns about Jim's resume, and hears a fairy tale. In that order.

_“Well, maybe my children like running wild in the street. Did that ever occur to you?” – Caracticus Potts_

When John was a student, his teacher made them write down a list of all the things that they would like to do when they get older. This same idea later became known as a “bucket list”, and this is what little John H. Watson wrote down on his paper when he was 11:

Things I would like to do when I grow up:

1\. Go on an adventure – a lot of them

2\. Become a doctor so I can help people

3\. Grow a mustache even though Harry says it will look funny – I’ll prove her wrong

4\. Make a bunch of amazing friends

5\. Become an astronaut – because I could make friends with all the aliens and we could do cool stuff together

Well, John had definitely accomplished the first two items on the list by becoming an army doctor, as going to Afghanistan to get shot at while saving those that actually had been shot is probably the closest thing that John could get to having an ‘adventure’. It’s not as if there was some sort of quest that he could join that involved dragons, elves, and dwarves that he could join that he used to imagine while running around the playground. Those things just don’t exist in the real world. So instead, John opted for the second most dangerous thing that he could do that didn’t include incineration via dragon breath, and decided to join a war.

The third point on his list marked the first, and only, time that Harry was ever right about something: the moustache DID look horrible. All the photographic evidence of his high school moustache has been destroyed, and will never see the light of day. The moustache will never be discussed again, and it will never happen again. Ever. If questioned, John never sported anything but a freshly shaved upper lip at all times.

The fourth point was surprisingly easy, as John did tend to make friends as he went along life. John was always outspoken, even when he really shouldn’t be, and as captain of the rugby team he didn’t put up with his team mates bullying others and he always stuck up for the underdog.

The fifth point of going to space was likely never going to happen, but hey, John’s had some pretty good luck with three out of the five points on the list so he’s not going to count his chickens before they’ve hatched.

Now, if John the Adult were to look at this same list, he would probably chuckle fondly. However, if John the Adult were given the a slightly different task by his teacher, the things he would list would be much more sarcastic and cynical, but never the less true:

Things John H. Watson didn’t realize would happen when he grew up:

1\. Get shot and be unable to perform surgery again

2\. Get a flatmate that was a ‘highly functioning sociopath’ and run wildly around the entirety of London on insane crime-solving adventures

3\. Get kidnapped and have a bomb strapped on him by the most powerful criminal mastermind in the world

4\. Pretend to be said criminal mastermind’s pretend boyfriend to appease his parents

5\. Go on an all-expenses-paid shopping spree with “call me Jim, Johnny Boy” Moriarty

If 11 year old John saw John the Adult’s list, he would most likely grace our ears with the following the eloquent response: “Woowww, I got SHOT, like, with a REAL bullet and get to fight criminals?”

 

Really 11 year old John, that’s the part you focus on?

 

John the Adult can’t help but focus on the final two points on this list, and can’t believe that the first three points are somehow followed up by the final two.

Seriously? How does one go from being strapped to a bomb during a scene straight from a televised drama series to walking around the city with the same man comparing whether the maroon cardigan he was trying on ‘goes with his complexion and emphasizes his eyes’?

After the second store that they walked into together, John decided to stop questioning the situation that he has found himself in, and just roll with it and see what happens. At least he will get a new wardrobe out of this deal, and clothing shopping is something that he has wanted to do since returning from Afghanistan, but could not afford due to a certain consulting egomaniac.

“So...you are meeting with your parents this afternoon and you waited until NOW to find a pretend boyfriend?” John asked as he pulled a dark blue jumper with the word “Dartmouth” written in white cursive over his head while standing in the changing room of the eighth or ninth store they had entered. John has pretty much lost track of the stores that they have made purchases from over the last hour and a half, and has learned that questioning Jim on anything that he picks out for John to try on is not worth the fit that Jim will pitch like a tent in the wilderness.

“Moran was supposed to be available whenever I needed him.. and we will be having WORDS about this when he returns from his...vacation” John heard Jim reply from beyond the change room door.

John shook his head in disbelief and chuckled, and decided that they needed to address some key points that Jim kept avoiding while they had been shopping.

“Ok, so I think we need to get our stories straight if we are going to be doing this.” John stated, pulling on some dark camel trousers and balancing on one foot when his ankle got caught in the leg. “What do your parents even think you DO? Do they know that their son is the ruler of the criminal classes?”

John heard some shuffling beyond the change room as he slid the fabric up his legs, and heard the signature Irish voice carry over the opening above the door.

“They know that I am a math professor at Oxford, which I actually am, but I mainly focus on research and publications. This means that I don’t have to actually go into the office that frequently, and frees up my time for extra-curricular activities that normal people do like... observing fine art, going to the planetarium, watching telly, and...swimming.”

John ignored the jab, and chuckled as he filed away this important piece of information away because he was truly impressed by Jim’s official credentials and surprised that he had such a prestigious ‘day’ job. One can’t exactly put “Napoleon of Crime: 1989 – ongoing” under the “Work Experience” category of one’s resume without raising suspicion, now can they?

“That’s actually quite interesting, what does your research focus on? This is important background information I’ll need to know if we want to do a good job of convincing your parents that we have had a more than a grand total of two hours of acquaintance...Hey, I’m actually doing better than Sherlock, I think he’s only had about five minutes of total conversation with you!” John laughed as he smoothed down the dark blue jumper and started to exit the change room to see what Jim thought of the outfit.

John heard a chuckle from Jim, and Jim’s reply of, “You’re right there, Johnny Boy. Good old Sherly will be oh so jealous! And he thought we had a special something.  But back to more important things, namely me. I published a book a few years ago called “The Dynamics of an Asteroid” about the math associated with asteroid dynamics and orbital bombardme – HOLY SHIT JOHNNY BOY THE PIPES, THE PIPES ARE DEFINITELY CALLING YOU FROM GLEN TO GLEN, BECAUSE OF WHAT THOSE TROUSERS DO TO YOUR BACKSIDE!”

John flushed a bright red as he stepped out of the room to face Jim and heard this less-than-poetic response to the outfit he was wearing.

“Did you just somehow manage to turn the lyrics of Danny Boy into probably one of the most lewd comments I have ever heard about my ass?” John asked, putting his hands on his hips while he took in Jim’s giddy form. Seriously, the man was literally hopping up and down and urging John to do one of those little turns from the fashion shows on the telly.

“You bet I did, it’s the Irishman in me just screaming to be released in the face of such a glorious posterior. You are definitely wearing this to meet my parents today, just keep it on and pull off the tags so we can pay for it at the front.” Jim replied, laughing lightheartedly, eyes gleaming in the manufactured lighting of the store.

“Oh my goodness this is my life now” John thought as he buried his face in his hands and turned back to put on his actual clothes.

Thankfully, that was the last store that Jim seemed to want to force John into, and after looking at his watch John realized that it was already 11:30. After rubbing his face with his hands, John tried to pick up the pace as an overly enthusiastic Jim continued rambling about a job that he had pulled off the previous month while walking at a break-neck speed.

“Wait, wait, wait, as much as I want to know what happened to the Dutch Ambassador’s wife’s wig, which we WILL be revisiting, we are seriously going to have to coordinate here. Why are your parents demanding to see your fake-boyfriend, and how long have you kept up this story of a fictional relationship?” John pleaded as he reached out to grab Jim’s sleeve to slow him down. Jim turned and seemed to somber a bit, his eyes losing the mirth they held moments ago as he seemed to remember why the Napoleon of Crime was walking down the street with an ex-army doctor.

“Alright, Johnny boy, I agree we can’t go into this unprepared” Jim sighed as he motioned for John to enter a small Italian café that John hadn’t realized that they had stopped in front of. Jim gave a curt nod to the hostess as he led John to the back of the establishment, where there was a table hidden behind a screen where Jim most likely held meetings of a more sinister nature. Once they had ordered and the waiter took their menus, John folded his hands expectantly on the table and waited for the other man to proceed in outlining the parameters of the mission they were about to embark on.

Jim seemed to steel himself, and looked John straight in the eye as he explained himself. “It was about four months ago when my parents started pestering me how I was ‘a loner’ and that I was ‘going to die alone in my sad little hovel of a math office’. I’m going to tell you a story Johnny boy, and you aren’t going to interrupt me until it is finished.”

Jim stared at him until John gave his nod of agreement, and Jim sighed and began to tell his story. “Once upon a time there was a young boy who was the prince of his kingdom, and he had a mommy and a daddy who loved him very much. But you see, fate had decided that the young prince had too many good things in his life: his father owned many of the inns in the kingdom where visitors from across the land would come and see the beautiful sites that the young prince would show them. There was a particularly beautiful waterfall that the young prince would visit with his mother, and they would show its beauty to even the filthy peasants.

One day, while the prince’s mother was showing the visitors the waterfall, she got into an argument with one of them, a man named Lord Powers. Soon, the messengers returned to the kingdom telling the prince that his mother had died, and had drowned after falling from the cliffs of the waterfall in what was deemed ‘an accident’. From that day on, there was a dark cloud that overtook the kingdom, and the prince and his father were very sad, but tried their best to make due with what they had. To their dismay, the visitors stopped coming to see their waterfall, just in case they fell in too. All hope seemed lost, but then, a very wealthy Duchess with her two children came into the land and attracted the eye of the sad king. One thing led to another, blah, blah, blah, romantic gestures, and the Duchess and the king were married, took the power of the kingdom away from him, and introduced the young prince to his new stepbrother that was two weeks older then he and his younger stepsister. The young prince hated his step siblings, and the Duchess was always overbearing because she thought that she could replace the prince’s mother. The young prince’s step siblings were evil little shits and bullied the young prince and eventually turned the entire school against him, especially the annoying son of the man who ‘accidentally’ pushed the young prince’s mother to her death. The young prince decided to get his revenge on Lord Powers, which you already know about, and soon his siblings realized that it was best to leave the young prince to his own devices.

The young prince did his best to finish school as quickly as possible, all the while building an underground kingdom that he could rule all by himself. So, the young prince became the king of his underground kingdom, but no one could know of his absolute rule over his quickly expanding empire. To those who knew the prince, he was just a homely math professor, while his stepbrother (who was two weeks older and would never let anyone forget that) went on to have a career in film that would be mediocre at best in an attempt to overthrow the young prince as the rightful ruler of the kingdom. His stepsister decided that she would become the most rude, annoying nurse in existence, much to the pleasure of the Duchess, and became known as the child that could do no wrong.

The young prince moved away from his beloved mother’s house in order to get away from the Duchess and her spawn, and worked on building his kingdom and slowly becoming the powerful king they did not think he had the ability to become. Soon, he had more power and wealth than any other man in the world, but to his eternal frustration he could not tell his ‘family’ about any of it. Instead, they kept pestering him and annoying him about how he would die alone because no one would be interested in a young prince that had no kingdom to speak of. Thus, the young prince found himself in a dilemma: he did have a kingdom, the biggest of them all, but there was no one he could tell because it was a kingdom of shadow and fire.

Until one day, the young prince met a blonde manservant of an egotistical prince and almost blew him up. For reasons that the young prince still doesn’t quite understand, the blonde manservant said that he would pretend to be the young prince’s consort so that he could help the prince in his attempt to take back his rightful kingdom from the stupid Duchess and her hell spawn.”

Jim exhaled shakily, refolded his hands on the top of the table, and looked John straight in the eye and said “So, John, I need you to come to this lunch because I made up a fictional boyfriend so that my stupid stepmother would get off my back about it. They think that we have been together for about three months, but I never told them anything more specific than the fact that he was blonde and a man. So we can pretty much make up whatever we want, but probably sticking to the truth minus the Semtex would be the best course of action. Do you want to quickly plan out some more details before we meet my parents at 1?”

Throughout Jim’s story, John’s heart couldn’t help but go out to the poor kid that little Jim Moriarty must have been. Jim Moriarty had been dealt a strange hand in the game of life, and not a particularly good one. Having to deal with siblings that are annoying as hell is something that John could definitely relate to, but also having to deal with an overbearing stepmother that never missed an opportunity to belittle Jim would drive anyone into the criminal underworld. Luckily for Jim, he was able to flourish there, but it must be extremely lonely and tiring to keep up that façade every day. The undertones of Cinderella were strong throughout Jim’s story, but John knew that for once the criminal mastermind was being honest with him. There was no sort of malicious gleam in his eye, and the way that Jim was looking at him was the look of a man that was unused to getting any sort of assistance when asked for it. How many times had little Jim asked for help or comfort after the death of his mother only to be denied it? Jim, in this one moment, was more similar to John than he could ever imagine, and maybe one day John would open up to Jim about just how similar their childhoods were.

So, John replied “Sure, let me just grab a pen” and starting fishing around his coat pocket for his little pen and notepad so they could plan out the best damn romance that ever graced the big screen.  The waitress bought them two coffees and some biscuits that would serve to fuel this madness.  John wrote “Jim Moriarty and John Watson's Plan of Mass Destruction – A Love Story” on the top of the page and showed it to Jim, who burst out laughing and they started brainstorming how to best up-stage Jim’s annoying family by their fictional romance.

Thus, if John was asked at this point whether he wanted to make any changes or add anything to his list of “Things John H. Watson didn’t realize would happen when he grew up”, he would most likely add:

6\. Create a plot to get revenge on Jim Moriarty’s family, and have a bloody good time doing it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I hope you guys all liked the latest update! I'm new to AO3, and I've been having some problems deleting the old notes off of the bottom of my new chapters. If anyone can help, that'd be great! Next up, we have some more scheming, Mrs. Hudson, and maybe an introduction to Jim's parents! See you all soon! :)


	4. The Envy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which nicknames are made, tea trembles in fear, and voicemails are checked, not necessarily in that order.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi Everyone, and Happy Valentines Day (especially to our favourite army doctor and consulting criminal)! Life has been insanely busy between school and work, so I'm sorry that I haven't been able to update as quickly as I had expected. Hopefully you guys enjoy this next update! 
> 
> In each of the chapters I have tried to incorporate quotes and ideas from not only the Sherlock tv show, but the original mysteries as well because I am a huge fan of both. So kudos to anyone who can spot the reference I make in this update ;)

_“We’ll glide on our motor trip, with pride of our ownership.  The envy of all we survey” – The Potts Family_

 

_Years later, John receives a birthday present that makes both his mouth and his heart smile in warmth and love, and ultimately wonder how he could have been so lucky.  To any passerby, it would seem like a substandard gift: how could John be so joyous upon receiving a picture frame for their birthday where there are plenty of other technical gadgets that a man his age would love to receive? Even the frame itself was peculiar and would be generally unpleasing to the eye of the majority of the population.  It was made of a strange collection of sticks, fabric, and what appeared to be dirt of some kind, and was most likely all glued together by a hyperactive 10-year-old with an industrial glue gun.  No one in their right mind would think that this was an appropriate gift for one John Hamish Watson._

 

_But to John it was perfect._

 

_Resting in the middle of the vaguely square frame behind a pane of glass sits a worn, heavily creased, tea-stained piece of paper with two different types of handwriting on it.  At the top of the page, centered as if declaring its contents for all who dare to read it, the title of the document reads: “Plan of Mass Destruction – A Love Story”.  And to John, it is the outline of the greatest story ever told._

 

 

John turned the paper outlining their plan back towards him, ears still ringing from the surprisingly musical cadence of Jim Moriarty’s laugh.  “I wonder when the last time Jim genuinely laughed with someone, he should do it more often” John thought sadly as he looked back down at the almost empty paper, wondering what he should write down.

 

“Ok, Johnny Boy, we need to get our lies straight because my step-mother will practically be giving us an exam on how many useless facts we know about each other.  First thing’s first, where did we first meet?”  Jim folded his hands on the table and looked up at John energetically as the waitress returned with their order.

 

“Well, I would say that we met at the lab at St. Barts, but you really don’t have a reason to be there unless your parents know about Jim from IT.” John contemplated, taking a sip of coffee that was actually palatable.

 

 “No, you’re right, they don't know about me moonlighting as a tech guy who really likes fluorescent green pants...OOOoooo I know! We met....at the swimming pool!” Jim exclaimed, hands slamming the table and causing their respective coffees to tremble in fear.

 

John chuckled and replied, “Well, staying as close to the truth would be best so that we can keep our stories straight...but what would we have been doing at the pool?”

 

Jim tapped his lip in thought, and answered “Hmmmm...we could always say that I have gotten back into swimming after finishing my latest book because of the abundant free time I have as a resident loner.  You would of course say that your physiotherapist proposed that swimming would be the best way to regain more mobility in your shoulder.  Then, one day a few months ago, we were both at the pool at the same time and you were totally checking me out when you noticed that I left my phone behind by my chair.  You, being the knight in shining armor that you are, ran after me into the change room by the side of the pool and said that you would only give it back to me if I let you put your number in and take me out to dinner.  I of course say yes, and we have a perfect fairy tale beginning.”

 

John diligently took notes as Jim talked, and once he had finished he stared at the notes he had made.  “Wait a minute...you say that you walked into the change room and then I followed you in... does that mean when I was strapped with Semtex and you made your grand exit but then came back in saying that you were ‘so changeable’, you actually walked into the change room and didn’t realize until you were in there?!”

John laughed, tears coming from his eyes as he realized what had actually happened that night to the poor dramatic mastermind.  “You really _were_ quite _change_ able! Bloody hell that’s HILARIOUS, I can just imagine you standing there wondering how the hell you were going to justify coming back out so you could actually leave!” John laughed even harder, and Jim had a dark blush across his face as he watched John put all the pieces of the puzzle together marvelously.

 

“Ok, ok, that’s enough of that Johnny Boy, Daddy’s had enough now.  We need to decide where you took me for dinner that night, and what grand gesture you made to convince me to go out with you again” Jim pouted, trying to regain control of his composure and carry on with the task at hand.

 

John wiped the tears of mirth from his eyes, and turned around in his seat to grab a tissue from his coat pocket.  As he stuck his hand in the fold of fabric, he felt the vibration of his phone against the back of his hand and pulled out the device so that he could see what message he had just received. Setting the phone above the table, he pressed the on button to reveal several missed messages and phone calls.  “Just give me a second” John said, looking up at Jim as he punched in his password to see what all the fuss was about.  Jim simply nodded and took a sip of his coffee while perusing the selection of biscuits that the waitress had set down.

_1 Unread Text Message_

_5 Missed Calls_

_1 Voicemail_

 

John snorted as he clicked on the 1 Unread Message notification to see what that bigot Sherlock Holmes could possibly have to say after the way he treated John this morning, and part of John was honestly surprised that he only had one message from the egotistical detective which read:

 

_5:03 am - Come now John, this behavior is unbecoming of a man your age. You can’t truly believe that you are right about the victim inhaling some sort of mysterious fumes, it’s OBVIOUSLY the fungus. Leave the detecting to the real detectives, John. SH_

John bristled in anger at being addressed in such a condescending way.  “Leave the detecting to the detectives, is that the best insult he could come up with?” John said, turning the phone around so Jim could see the message on the display.  Jim chuckled as he covered his mouth while chewing the biscuit, and quickly swallowed so he could reply, “It seems like Sherly doesn’t like anyone stomping on his yard”, before taking a sip of tea.

 

John laughed and replied “damn straight, doesn’t he realize that it’s my milkshake that brings all the boys to the yard, and it’s way better than his” and then started laughing hysterically as the self-dubbed Napoleon of crime proceeded to spit his tea across the table like a character from a cheesy sitcom.  John, with tears of mirth again streaming from his eyes, quickly moved the piece of paper out of the way and tried to dry the tea stains as they both launched into a laughing fit that lasted a couple of minutes. 

 

“OH MY... OH MY GOD! JOHNNY BOY!! How the HELL do _YOU_ know Milkshake?!” Jim sputtered, blush taking over his face as he tried to dab at the tea that he had unceremoniously applied to the table surface.

 

After gaining control of his laughter, John explained, “We had one lieutenant in our division named Thomas, and part of his care package from his fiancé was always a bunch of CDs she would make of songs that she found hilarious.  Of course, Milkshake was one of his favourites, so he played it nonstop for 3 weeks until the next CD came in the mail. We were all so happy when the next CD came, but then we realized that the only song on the CD was several recordings of ‘The Song that Never Ends’ and we begged him to put Milkshake back on”.

 

John couldn’t help but notice how...ok there’s no other word for it... _adorable_... Jim Moriarty was when he laughed.  His dark eyes lighted to a molten chocolate brown as he gave a full-face smile at John’s army mate’s past actions, and tried to regain some semblance of dignity as he finished patting at the stains on the table.

 

“OH my GOODNESS, that can be my sickening couple name for you! You can be my milkshake!” Jim exclaimed as he grabbed the slightly damp piece of paper that detailed their fake relationship from John’s side of the table and promptly added the moniker to the list.

 

“That also gives us an inside joke that we can use when we want to be particularly annoying with my parents” Jim added, making a section on the list for ridiculous pet names.  Jim looked up from his scribblings and nodded towards John’s discarded phone asking, “Johnny, what other messages have you missed during our little shopping session?”

 

John, turning his attention back to his phone, unlocked the screen again, and clicked on the 5 Missed Calls notification.  John’s eyebrows raised as he noticed that he had not one, but TWO missed phone calls from Mr. British Government himself.  John always knew subconsciously that Mycroft had eyes everywhere throughout the city, but knowing that despite those all-seeing eyes he had been able to walk around the entirety of London unsupervised for several hours because he was walking beside Jim Moriarty made John give his phone a smirk.  John had never truly appreciated the amount of power that Jim must hold over not just this city, but also the world, if Mycroft’s inability to track him on surveillance while walking around in broad daylight prompted TWO separate phone calls to track him down.  John looked up at Jim, and Jim quirked his eyebrow, intrigued at what brought such a delicious smirk upon the army doctor’s face. 

 

“Seems like whatever you’re doing is working, because Mycroft called me twice in the last two hours” John explained, thumbing through the next series of missed calls.

 

Jim wore a matching smirk, and replied “Oh Johnny Boy, a magician never reveals their tricks...OOooo that can be my official nickname for you, Johnny Boy”, as he added that nickname to the list as well.

 

John then checked the last three missed calls, and noted that they were all from Lestrade, as well as the voicemail.  John opened his voicemail and punched in his password, and set the message on speakerphone so that the hip-hop loving criminal mastermind could listen to the message:

 

_“Hey mate! I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for the last few hours! Sherlock, the berk, isn’t picking up his phone.  But anyways...I thought I’d let you know first, but I just heard back from Molly and she says that the evidence from Clarke’s autopsy so far indicates that the cause of death was cyanide poisoning! You did it, mate! She must have inhaled the cyanide as she was painting, so you got it in one!  We’ve gotta meet up at the pub and celebrate, great job! Talk to you later mate.”_

As soon as Lestrade’s voice confirmed that Clarke’s cause of death was cyanide poisoning, John pumped his fist into the air and let out a “Take that!” as Greg finished his message.

 

“So it seems like my milkshake is definitely _shaking_ things up” Jim said, which prompted John to explain the circumstances of the case earlier that morning and how he pieced everything together. 

 

“Great job Johnny Boy! We’ll have you creating mastermind plans in no time! That can be a relationship goal – Create plan that will allow us to enslave the entire world!” Jim stated as he was about to put the pen down on the paper.

 

John chuckled and pulled the tea-stained sheet of paper back towards him “Don’t put that down! We need to take this at least semi-seriously. Ok, so we have our first meeting.  Our first date can be that I took you to the planetarium and the museum, if we want to stay sort of close to the truth, and we went out for dinner. I told you about my military career, and that’s why you know about the whole milkshake thing.  We went out to the movies a few times, swam together during the week when I was off on cases and the clinic and you were not...doing whatever it is you really do in the afternoons.  You told me about your past, I told you about my alcoholic sister and father, and you are always going on about how I need to get a better phone.”  John spoke as he wrote down these items on the list.  John’s eyebrows drew together, and he questioned, “What are we going to do about Sherlock? How do we explain why I’m not living with you?”

 

Jim tapped his finger to his lips, and John’s attention couldn’t help but be drawn to the consulting criminal’s full cupid’s bow.  John broke out of his daze when Jim replied “Here’s a solution: Sherlock needs your help with his cases which is confirmed by your blog, brilliant writing by the way, and you have your position at the clinic that is flexible with your hours.  I have to live close to Oxford because of my position, but we have been dancing around the subject of getting a flat together that we can afford and is in a good spot.  We blame the business of London, and that way our living situation isn’t suspect.  Sherlock, of course, is envious of our relationship and you have noticed that he has been trying to sabotage our relationship.  You love me so much that you easily chose our relationship over his egotistical self.  You guys got into a fight, and that has prompted you to consider moving out once and for all and be with me, and what better way to say that you want to be a part of my life than meeting my ridiculous family.” Jim finished, with John copying down everything that Jim stated.

 

“That’s brilliant!” John exclaimed, and added bullet points to each idea, “And I’m glad that _someone_ appreciates the blog.  Well, that seems like enough to go off of for now, and we can wing it as we go along...oh, do you have any allergies or any food that you absolutely hate?”

 

Jim flushed at John’s praise, and replied “Oh...no I don’t have any allergies, I just hate mayonnaise and pickles”

 

John added those to the list, and added his own dislikes, saying “I don’t have any allergies either, and I will eat pretty much anything except melon.  Seriously, it’s the worst fruit and that’s all they ever put on those stupid fruit platters.”

 

Jim chuckled, and gestured to their shopping bags stating, “So, as much as I have enjoyed this outing, we can’t exactly meet my parents with the entirety of your wardrobe in our arms.  Let’s drop this off at Baker Street and then we can be off to meet our destruction”.  Jim reached into his wallet and threw down enough bills cover their meal onto the table.

 

John nodded, folded the piece of paper holding their master plan in half, and proceeded to gather the plastic bags that were scattered around him so they could make their way back to 221B.  He stuck the list in his pocket, and the two walked out of the café and into the main street to hail a cab.  The cab ride there was short, and soon the two gentlemen were standing in front of the black door while John fished for his keys in the bag that contained his original clothing from earlier that morning. 

 

“Yoo hoo!” John heard Mrs. Hudson’s voice call out from 221A as he opened the door, and soon the woman herself was standing on the landing. “Hello John, I heard you and Sherlock up and about rather early this morning... Oh! And who is this gentleman here?” Mrs. Hudson stated, gesturing to Jim.

 

John looked back at the most wanted man in the world, caught his eye and smirked, saying, “This, Mrs. Hudson, is my boyfriend Jim."


	5. Truly Scrumptious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jim Moriarty is surprised, John comes to a realization, and lemon tarts are consumed, in that order.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi Everyone! I'm so glad to hear that everyone is enjoying this story with our favourite consulting criminal and his milkshake ;) So, without further ado, I hope you all enjoy this latest update!

_“Toot sweets sound like what they are, so do lollys in a lollypop jar. Gingerbread men have a gingerbread sound, we’ve found.  Sugar plum cinnamon and lemon tart tell you what they are right from the start.  And your name does the same for you, by coincidence” – Jeremy & Jemima Potts_

 

There’s a name across the world that no one says, a name that strikes fear into the hearts of men, a name that opens doors, and a name that could result in your 6-foot decent back to the earth from which you came.  A name that promises the thrill of adrenaline, a name that when mentioned has made grown men cry, a name that identifies the spider that sits in the middle of the web of crime that has been spun around the entire world.  When this name is mentioned, assassins tremble in their boots, crime lords run for cover, smugglers fake their deaths and move to isolated shacks in the Arctic.

 

So, when John Watson introduced the one-and-only Mr. Jim Moriarty to Mrs. Hudson with the following line: “This, Mrs. Hudson, is my boyfriend Jim.  Jim Moriarty”, what Jim expected was for Mrs. Hudson’s eyes to widen, for her to slam her door shut, and to start screaming for someone to call the police. Mrs. Hudson must have known that this Jim was the same man responsible for the entire pool-fiasco, since the walls provide little sound-proofing against a ranting Sherlock Holmes, and would have likely been terrified that this man had entered her home. These reactions, Jim assumed, would be any normal person’s reaction upon hearing that the Napoleon of Crime had just set foot on their landing.

 

But of course, the occupants of 221 were anything but typical. 

 

Thus, when John Watson introduced his fake-boyfriend Jim Moriarty to one Mrs. Hudson, her response was the following: “Oh...isn’t that the one that was obsessed with oranges?”

 

John and Jim stood in silence for a moment, before John broke out into laughter and nearly dropped the clothing bags that he was carrying.  Jim, for the first time in his life, was completely speechless at the words that had nonchalantly tumbled from the landlady’s mouth.  Once Jim’s brain registered the fact that he did not have a shrieking woman on his hands, he began to sputter and tried to think of something... _anything_...to figure out how the hell HE, the criminal mastermind of the world, was associated with ORANGES.

 

Once John got his laughter back in order, he turned to Jim and explained, saying “Remember during that whole ‘great game’ with Sherlock before the pool incident?  You kept sending the messages for the hostages with little pips before them to tell us how many hostages were left until your big reveal. I was trying to explain to Mrs. Hudson what the pips where and why you were using them, but she thought that you were sending us real orange pips!  She thought that you had some sort of fascination with oranges and all of the hostages were part of some grand statement against Tropicana.” John couldn’t help but laugh at the slightly horrified look that had grown on Jim’s face as he recounted the tale. 

“YES, that can MY nickname for you! I’ll be your milkshake, and you can be my Tropicana!” John exclaimed, and started walking up the stairs towards Mrs. Hudson.  “You call me Tropicana, Johnny Boy, and I’ll skin you alive” Jim growled as he followed the military doctor up towards the highly amused landlady. 

John gave Mrs. Hudson a hug, and began to ask Mrs. Hudson about her morning and whether she needed him to pick up anything from Tescos that evening.  Jim looked around the stairwell, taking in the slightly peeling paint as the plastic handles from John’s recent purchases began to dig into the skin of his hands.  Jim just began to tune back into John and Mrs. Hudson’s conversation and was enraged when hear heard John say, “Jim’s not my _real_ boyfriend, I’m just doing him a favour because his parents are giving him a hard time.”

 Jim grabbed John’s arm and pulled him towards him and yelled “What on EARTH did you tell her for? What part of ‘secret fake relationship’ did you not get in the memo?”

 Before Jim could threaten to blow up the entire street, John placed his other hand on top of Jim’s, and replied in a calm voice, “Jim, we are going to need someone to back up our story in case your family begins to snoop around after we have lunch with them.  From what you’ve told me, they are going to be naturally nosey about your relationship.  They would never in a million years ask Sherlock, but it would be odd if my landlady, whom I am close with, did not know that I was in a relationship with you.  That’s why whenever I would pretend to be someone’s boyfriend, I would always tell one person so that they could corroborate my story.  Mike Stamford was always good for it, so long as I bought him lunch afterwards.  Mrs. Hudson is tough as nails, and she would agree to all the details and dates that we just came up with at the café.  There’s no one I trust more than her, and she would know right away if I was lying anyways.” John looked over to Mrs. Hudson and gave her a fond smile, with Mrs. Hudson returning that same look of love and maternal affection that little Jim Moriarty had not seen in a very long time.

 “Don’t worry about me, dear, I used to be a dancer at one of the top underground dance clubs back in the day.  I know how...oh what do they call it now...fake it ‘til I make it?” Mrs. Hudson replied, putting her hands on her hips.

 

Jim, for the second time in his life, was completely speechless at this display of forethought and planning from the army doctor.  He was also momentarily distracted by the warmth that radiated from the man's hand that was still placed on Jim's arm.  

 

John, taking pity on the poor genius, moved his hand down to Jim and took the bags of clothing out of Jim’s hands, stating, “Here, I’ll go put this away in my room upstairs, and you can start telling Mrs. Hudson about the details of our fake relationship.  That way by the time I’m done, we can get going to meet your parents.”  And didn’t that word ‘fake’ send a pang of something distinctly unpleasant in the stomachs of both men.

 

John quickly made his way up the stairs to 221B, and made his way into the flat that he used to call home.  As John made his way through the living room, he couldn’t help but stop and stare at the two armchairs that were sitting facing each other in front of the fire place.  John had always thought that he was a valuable part of the Work, that his medical and tactical training would always help Sherlock ‘make a point’ to the ungrateful Scotland Yard officers that always barged into their small sanctuary they had made for themselves away from the outside world.  He thought that Sherlock at least cared for him a bit, enough to see that John was his friend and that John would, and had already done, anything to ensure the continued survival of the mad genius.

 

It was a few months ago that John first started to notice that Sherlock was pulling away from him.  If John had to pick a specific moment when it first started, he would probably say that it was the first time that John made a significant contribution to a case.  Sherlock and John had been trying to catch a serial killer that would leave pieces of paper with multiple small stick men with their hands and arms in different positions with some holding flags at the scene of each crime. 

 

It was John, based on his time in school developing secret codes with his rugby mates, that realized that the presence of a flag in the message indicated the end of a word.  Based on that, Sherlock was easily able to crack the code.  However, later that night when John was proudly explaining how he identified the clue, Sherlock simply turned to John and said “Please, John, that was just a lucky guess.  Maybe next time try and discover something a little more meaningful”, picked up his violin and began to torture the poor thing.  John, annoyed with Sherlock’s crassness, went into the kitchen to make some tea and then went back into his room where he spent the remainder of the night. 

 

That was the first of Sherlock’s many criticisms towards John’s vocalization of his intellect, and it only escalated as John became more and more involved in each case.  As John was tucking a new pair of socks that Jim had insisted that he buy into his drawer, he realized that somewhere in the last month John had transformed from being a mere conductor of light to his own shining beacon.  John thought that Sherlock would be thrilled that John was taking a more active interest in the Work, and believed that in another universe, Sherlock may have fostered that light and proven himself to be a mentor for John.  However, it seemed that in Sherlock’s world there was only room for one light, and John had unknowingly found himself stuck in the eternal role of sidekick in the shadows.  Just like the frog in the proverbial hot water, John had not realized that the original fun and adventure that he had once shared with the consulting detective had turned into something toxic and decayed like the victims that they examined at a crime scene.

 

No, John thought, it wasn’t until Jim Moriarty waltzed into his life that John realized that the water was truly boiling and that if he did not jump now, he would never make it out alive.  Deciding to be Jim Moriarty’s fake boyfriend may have been the exact spark that John needed to put him on a new course in his life. 

 

Besides, being on the side of the angels is not really all that fun if you aren’t actually one of them. 

 

And John definitely wasn’t an angel. John had bad days, he had done things that he can’t find himself to regret, and what scared John the most was that he was starting to _identify_ with Jim Moriarty...potentially being _attracted_ to him, and didn’t the whole ‘fake’ relationship deal put a damper on that small seed that was not quite ready to push through the soil’s surface and bloom?  As John placed shirts on hangers and snapped the price tags off the clothing that Jim had meticulously picked out for him, he realized that no one had shown that much thought towards John other than Mrs. Hudson since his mother walked out on his family while he was still a young boy.

 

Sherlock had brushed off John’s advances when they first met, stating that he was ‘married to his work’ or some other bullshit excuse like that.  Now, John was happy that Sherlock rejected him because throughout the time of their co-habitation he had come to realize that Sherlock would make an absolutely _atrocious_ partner.  Sherlock’s blatant disregard for social norms, lack of empathy, and need to constantly be in the spotlight hindered rather than helped the man when it came to both his private life and his job as a detective.  John’s thoughts circled back to Jim Moriarty and had to admire how the man could understand, utilize, and manipulate social norms to do his bidding, how he doled out just enough empathy to secure the trust of his victim, and how he was willing to slink back into the shadows and let his name do the talking for those that knew of it.  John shivered with something akin to arousal as he thought about the man that he had left downstairs with his not-quite-so-innocent-landlady, and knew that if he continued upon this path and decided to strike out the fake in their fake relationship, there would be no turning back.

 

But then again, didn’t the traveler in The Road Not Taken choose the path that was covered in undergrowth and mystery, and state that it was that path that made all the difference?

 

So, with his mind made up, he hung the last shirt that he had purchased in his closet, and decided that he was going to treat this fake relationship as a trial run for what being the significant other of Mr. Jim Moriarty would be like.  Then, if Jim Moriarty would have him, John would make that jump and never look back.

* * *

 Jim Moriarty could honestly say that he had never, ever, _ever_ , been in a situation as awkward or confusing as the moment when he was ushered into John’s landlady’s apartment for “a quick cuppa while John puts away all of those beautiful things you bought him.”

 He felt like he had stepped into a sitcom as he took a seat at the kitchen table as Mrs. Hudson pattered around the kitchen and placed a plate of fresh lemon tarts in front of him.  “Come now, everyone deserves a sweet now and then.” Mrs. Hudson encouraged as she filled up her kettle and set it on the stove to boil.

 Jim obediently grabbed a tart from the plate, took a bite, and promptly moaned at the burst of citrus that splashed across his tongue “Mrs. Hudson, these tarts are truly scrumptious!” Jim exclaimed as the landlady grabbed two tea bags from her cupboard and placed them into two cups.

 That task finished, Mrs. Hudson placed a hand on her hip and stated, “Mr. Moriarty, let’s not play games, I know exactly who you are and a bit of what you do out in that big bad world out there.”  Jim’s posture immediately straightened, and a dark smile crossed his face as he looked at Mrs. Hudson with the respect that one predator shows another as they circle each other before initiating battle.

 Mrs. Hudson filled the two cups of tea with water, placed them on the table, and sat across from Moriarty stating, “You’ve probably never heard of my husband, Frank Hudson, but he was involved in a rather similar business to yours.  Not nearly on the same scale as you, but he did run some ‘businesses’ that gave him a pretty penny back in the day.  At the time I was a dancer, and I worked at one of the businesses that he owned.  We fell in love, got married, and we got along fine so long as he kept the business separate from our home.  The arrangement was fine, and we were very much in love until he started hitting me when his ‘investors’ started to pull their support.  Then all bets were off, and now the man is renting space in a nice little complex approximately 6 feet underground.  So, I will tell you right now, if you EVER do anything to harm my John, you will never see another sunrise.”  Mrs. Hudson sat back in her chair, picked up her tea, and took a sip as if she had not just threatened to murder the most wanted man in the world that was sitting across from her.

 

Jim Moriarty could respect a woman like that, and it was because of that respect that he decided that he would offer her something valuable in return for keeping his fake relationship with John a secret.

 

“I would never dream of hurting John Watson, even after we dissolve our...relationship. That man does have a way of growing on you, don’t you think?” Jim chuckled, taking another bite of the absolutely delicious tart sitting in front of him and washing it down with a sip of tea.

 “You, Mrs. Hudson, will be doing us a great service by playing along with your little charade in case my family begins to call, and you and John seem to be closer than any sorry excuse of a family member I saw listed as John Watson’s kin in the files I have on him.  So, as a thank you, I am offering you complete protection for the rest of your life, given that you never mention the true nature of this relationship to anyone.  No one will ever harm you, no one will ever darken your doorstep, and if anyone ever tries to threaten you, they too will never see another sunrise” Jim replied, folding his hands in front of him on the table showing that he took this pledge seriously without reserve for any of the blood that would be spilled in the future.

 

Mrs. Hudson set her cup down and looked Jim Moriarty straight in the eye, which was something that grown men have failed on numerous occasions to do, and smiled at the Napoleon of crime.  “You have yourself a deal, Mr. Moriarty”, she replied, sticking out her hand across the table.

 “The pleasure is all mine”, Jim chorused as he too extended his hand, and they shook hands over the plate of lemon tarts as they heard the sound of John’s footsteps descending the stairs.

 

“Hey Jim, should we get going? We don’t want to be late meeting your parents” John said, walking up to the table and taking a lemon tart off the plate.

 

“Of course, my milkshake, we wouldn’t want to keep my sorry excuses for parents waiting. Thanks again for the tea and the delicious lemon tarts Mrs. Hudson, I’ll have to pick up some later when I drop John off.” Jim stated, picking up his cup and placing it in the sink before nodding at Mrs. Hudson and making his way out of the flat. 

 

“I’ll see you later, Mrs. Hudson, and thanks so much for all this” John said warmly, giving Mrs. Hudson a hug before making his way out of the flat to chase after the criminal mastermind that was starting to ensnare his heart.

 

Mrs. Hudson chuckled, picking up the plate of tarts and watched as the two men hopped into a cab through the window of her flat and thought, “Oh what a life John Watson leads.”

 

 

 


	6. House on Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which three phone calls are made, a coat is dropped, and someone is proved wrong, not necessarily in that order.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO sorry for keeping you all waiting! (Note: if anyone tells you that fast-tracking your Masters is a good idea DO NOT DO IT! :P There are way too many assignments that keep you from the things you truly love, like our beloved Milkshake and Daddy Jim). I am so glad that people are enjoying this story, and I would love to hear from you all! 
> 
> So here's a brand new update, and hopefully I will have the chance to do another update in the next few weeks once finals are over! Good luck to all who are writing exams, and even if you aren't, I wish you an amazing week! :)

_“Coggins? He’s so mean he wouldn’t light your pipe if his house was on fire” – Grandpa Potts_

 

The sun’s orange-pink rays were just starting to shine through the windows of the lab as the one and only Sherlock Holmes violently pushed upon the doors of Laboratory 5 in St. Bartholomew’s Hospital, startling the brunette within that was working on some reports that were due that afternoon. Sadly, the beauty of the morning, and to be quite frank, every morning was truly lost upon this lonely man.  No one knew how the brilliant mind that lurked beneath those dark curls actually processed the world outside its borders, and only a very small few could catch the tiniest glimpse of the deductions that would race through its axons.  No one understood how the man who could distinguish a pilot by his left thumb could just as easily forget that the Earth orbited around the sun.  No one could comprehend how the man that could read others like a large-print book could be so clueless when those same emotions were directed at himself. 

There was another man: a caring man, a loyal man, a man that had bad days, a man that enjoyed watching crap telly with his landlady (not his housekeeper), that though that he could potentially be friends with the man with the dark curls, that they could be lonely together.  The caring man respected the lonely man, and he thought their partnership would be the beginning of a beautiful something that would span the generations, define literature (or at least his blog), and ultimately lead to...maybe...just maybe...something more.  But after every hinting, every clue dropped, the lonely man, as previously revealed, could not comprehend emotions when they were directed towards himself, even if they were those of friendship and love.  To a mind that classified others as “ally”, “innocent”, “guilty”, and “Anderson”, these feelings of something more flew over his head like bees flying up to the tips of a tree branch returning to their nest, and from the lonely man’s position below, he was never able to realize the bountiful honey that resided within the average-looking hive.  When the caring man realized that his affections were not being returned, he settled on friendship and tried to prove his love in the best way he could: by learning from the lonely man.  The caring man had already proved his loyalty, but he decided that he needed to show the lonely man that he was not alone with his Work, that there was someone there who could keep up with his lightning-fast pace.  Someone who, with enough practice, could become the booming thunder that immediately follows a brilliant lightning strike.  So, the caring man spent hours learning, and quickly began to pick up on elements of the Work and become closer in caliber to the brilliant mind hidden behind heterochromatic eyes. 

However, as stated previously, the lonely man could not understand emotions when they were directed towards him.  Thus, the lonely man completely misinterpreted the motivations of the caring man, and questioned why the caring man would try to steal the Work away from him.  _Nothing_ was more important than the Work to the lonely man.  The axons of his mind were like train tracks facilitating the movement of a subway cart, and without a subway to travel down their rails they would become rusted and useless.  However, this was not the caring man’s intention at all.  The caring man wanted to travel with the lonely man so that they could embark upon an adventure together as equals.  But alas, the lonely man became resentful towards the caring man as the caring man became better and better at solving cases.  This resentment morphed into loathing as the caring man started to integrate his other knowledge to become extremely efficient in the Work, almost better than the lonely man! 

Instead of being proud of his unexpected student, the lonely man became jealous and retaliated in the only way that he knew how: insult and belittlement.  ‘Why is the loyal man trying to steal the Work!’ the dark parts of the lonely man’s mind cried, drowning out the small voice that whispered, ‘No you stupid idiot, don’t you see that he’s a caring man and likes you?’.  Thus, the lonely man continued to lash out at the caring man until the spectacular fallout where the lonely man crushed the caring man’s fragile heart that had been through much sorrow and anguish.  The lonely man crushed it like petals of a delicate flower in a young child’s fist: clumsily, but without realizing that what had been done could not be undone.  The lonely man had not realized the irreversible mistake that he had made or its repercussions, and proceeded to ignore the rosy finger of dawn as he marched through the doors of the laboratory and approached the woman sitting at her desk.

 

“Molly, get up, whatever you’re doing clearly isn’t important.  I have some samples of what I suspect to be a highly toxic bacterial culture that I must observe immediately.  Meet me in Lab 3.”

 

“But Sherlock, I have to get this report finished for DI Gregson by noon”, Molly protested, turning back to her paperwork and ignoring the fuming consulting detective standing in front of her.

 

“Fine, finish your insipid paperwork, Gregson wouldn’t be able to solve his way out of a paper bag, let alone the triple homicide he’s currently reviewing that was clearly committed by the second victim’s former lover.  But don’t let me stand in the way of your _important_ paperwork” Sherlock sneered, and then left the fuming pathologist to make his way towards Lab 3 so he could start isolating the samples for observation.

 

Upon entering the lab, Sherlock removed his Belstaff and handed it along with his scarf to John who was walking silently behind the detective.  Sherlock took a seat at his usual bench to start isolating some of the colonies from the sample he had stolen from the crime scene.  Upon hearing no comment from John, Sherlock sarcastically said without looking up from his samples, “Oohhh John, so we’re doing the silent treatment again, I see.  Rather juvenile Dr. Watson, don’t you think?”

 

Sherlock placed the white spherical colonies on a slide, and quickly completed a Gram-stain on the cells.  After placing the slide under the microscope, he was able to identify the signature red colour of safranin, indicating that the suspicious cells were Gram-negative.  “That narrows down some of the possible identities of the toxic bacteria”, Sherlock thought to himself as he fiddled with the fine adjustment knob of the microscope.  “But the morphology’s all wrong... why is it _wrong_?”  Sherlock continued to look at the cells, frustration growing, when he was startled by the vibration of his cell phone within the pocket of his coat, with the sound emanating from the area by the door of the lab.

 

“Still acting like a belligerent child, _Doctor_?” Sherlock scoffed without looking up from his slides, “Do be a good little sidekick and answer the phone, John, and leave the real detective work to the professionals.”  However, the phone continued to vibrate and was left unanswered, stilling as the call ended.  Sherlock continued to look at the cells through the microscope, refusing to give in and acknowledge the stubborn army doctor standing at the entrance of the room.  This continued for another ten minutes until he heard the phone vibrate again.  “ _Seriously_ John, answer the phon-“, Sherlock yelled and was about to look up from his slides when suddenly the door opened and Molly Hooper walked into the room with her finished paperwork. 

 

“Who are you talking to, Sherlock?” Molly asked, looking around the room in confusion.

 

“I’m talking to John of cours-“ Sherlock stopped, finally looking up from his bench and noticed the distinct lack of army doctor standing within his vicinity.  “Where did John go, it’s just like him to take off in the middle of a case to find some woman to keep him company in the hours of the night” Sherlock complained, turning to continue his analysis of the microorganism in front of him.

 

“Sherlock...John was never here...you came in without him.” Molly tentatively replied, walking closer to the detective, but then her foot caught on a mound of black cloth that was unceremoniously dumped on the lab floor.

 

“What do you mean ‘ _John was never here’,_ of course John was here, I handed my coat to him..” and Sherlock’s voice trailed off as he took in the image of his beloved Belstaff and scarf in a heap on the floor where he had thought he had handed it to John.  Sherlock stood up from his bench to pick up his beloved coat that he would never admit to favouring solely because of the way it billowed in the wind, and Molly took a seat at the bench and took a look through the lenses of the microscope. 

 

“Sherlock... why are you looking at a fungus? I thought you said in your text earlier that the victim you were investigating was poisoned by a strain of toxic bacteria?” Molly questioned, pulling the original sample of fuzzy-white cells for closer inspection as Sherlock brushed the dust off the dark fibres of his coat.

 

“Of course it is a toxic bacteria, look at the Gram-negative stain result I obtained and the round morphology of the cells, I found them in her fridge right next to several bags of apples an some empty bottles” Sherlock explained, dusting off his coat and reaching his hand in the pocket to obtain his phone.

 

“Sherlock... I think what you are looking at here is either Saccharomyces cerevisiae or bayanus, both of which are NOT poisonous.  Those are the ingredients that you need to make hard apple cider, she was probably brewing her own and some of the yeast just fell out of the package.” Molly explained, looking at the glob of cells that had held so much intrigue and suspicion seconds earlier.

 

Sherlock was about to contradict her when his phone again started ringing from its place in his hand.  He looked at the screen and sneered in disdain when he noticed the following notification gracing the screen:

(2) Missed Calls – _Mycroft_

1 Incoming Call - _Mycroft_

 

“ _Two_ missed calls from Mr. British Government himself and a third on the way, what, did his favourite bakery burn in an unfortunate fire?” Sherlock thought verminously as he slid his finger across the screen and watched Molly start setting up a PCR reaction and a gel to determine the genome of the sample that he had removed from the crime scene. 

 

“ _Mycroft,_ THREE calls, really? Is the British government starting to get soft, or are you lamenting over the loss of your favourite bakery to the inferno?”  Sherlock snidely asked, placing his hand on his hip.

 

“Oh, brother mine, how I do _love_ to hear your voice.” Mycroft responded in his typical cool tone.  Sherlock was about to argue with him when Mycroft quickly said, “Clearly this isn’t a social call, brother dearest.  I am calling because it has come to my attention that you have _lost_ something, something that is rather important?”

 

“Lost something?” Sherlock questioned, turning away from the brunette pathologist that was placing the small test tubes into the PCR machine.  “What could I have possibly _lost_ , _Mycroft_ , it seems to me that you are starting to lose some of those marbles you keep in that balding head of yours” Sherlock bit back.

 

The phone was silent for a moment, Mycroft clearly fuming on the other side of the call.  “One point for me” Sherlock thought maliciously, waiting for Mycroft to tell him exactly what situation demanded that he be called not one, not two, but THREE times while he was on a case. 

 

“Fine, Sherlock, let me put this in a way that you will understand.  Look around you, and look _very carefully_ , what could you possibly be missing?” Mycroft said smugly, clearly amused that his brother was stalling for time.

 

It was Sherlock’s moment to be silent as he looked around the lab trying to figure out what point his idiotic brother was trying to make.  “How on earth should I know what I’ve lost, that’s always John’s job” Sherlock whined, watching Molly unload the samples from the PCR machine after it finished its cycle.

 

“Sherlock, as your Detective Inspector friend would say: You are a complete and utter idiot.  Have you not noticed that your little lap dog has not been with you for the last three hours?” Mycroft said, and Sherlock could hear the squeak of Mycroft’s office chair through the speaker as Mycroft clearly leaned backwards and crossed his legs.

 

“John went back home after embarrassing himself at the crime scene” Sherlock lied, realizing that he actually had no idea where the doctor went after their argument back at the victim’s apartment. 

 

“Embarrassed himself?” Mycroft genuinely questioned.  “That is not what I just heard judging by the toxicology results that were just reported to Detective Inspective Lestrade.  Doctor Watson was completely correct in his theory regarding the murder, while you have been marching around doing what...doing a Gram-stain on _yeast_? You _do_ realize that yeast is a fungus, so the Gram-stain will obviously give you contradicting data because it’s not a bacterium.” Mycroft said triumphantly.

 

Molly, who had heard Mycroft’s side of the conversation because the lab was so quiet, looked down at the lab bench and had to stifle a giggle as she witnessed the arrogant detective get taken down a figurative peg.  She was fed up with Sherlock always barging into her lab at all hours of the day and constantly getting her in trouble with the lab manager.  So, hell, she was going to chuckle as the self-proclaimed genius flubbed up basic microbiology.

 

Mycroft continued, “So clearly you have not been keeping track of Doctor Watson, but luckily for you, _I have_.  And the only reason why I am calling you is that shortly after Doctor Watson left the crime scene, he went into a café-“

“John’s caffeine habits are of absolutely no interest to me” Sherlock interjected rudely.

“His coffee intake is of little interest to me as well, _brother_ ” Mycroft said coldly, “But what _is_ of interest to me is that approximately 10 minutes after he entered the café, all of the CCTV cameras surrounding the café blacked out, and once they were back online Doctor Watson was nowhere to be found.” 

 

Sherlock was quiet for a moment, but then replied “So the idiot’s gotten himself kidnapped, at least he is providing me with more Work to keep me occupied.  What else do you know?”

 

“For the last few hours, the CCTV has been going down sporadically in different locations throughout the city.  Clearly whoever is doing this is walking around with John in the open, and is taunting us by disrupting numerous feeds so we cannot track their location or their possible path.  John’s phone tracker is not working, so the person who took him must have some sort of signal jamming device on their person” Mycroft details, the sound of typing clear through the phone’s speaker.

 

“Fine”, Sherlock sneered, “Text me the details and I will get started. Knowing John, the man’s probably fallen in a well or something, and we’ll need that dog...Molly what’s the dog’s name, to solve the case.”

 

Molly replied, “That dog’s name was Lassie, and you know that Timmy never actually fell in the well, right?”, but by that point the detective was already making his way out of the lab and putting his arm through his coat sleeve, leaving her to clean up his mess on the lab benches.

 

“Doctor Watson and Sherlock used to get on like a house on fire, I wonder what happened?” Molly thought to herself, putting aside the gel electrophoresis she had completed to keep as a momento of the one occasion where Molly Hooper was right, and the great, magnificent, but ultimately lonely, Sherlock Homles was wrong.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, one thing this chapter has taught me is that I absolutely HATE writing Sherlock :P. Jim and John have been spoiling my muse with their witty banter, and apparently my muse absolutely LOATHES Sherlock...which I find rather amusing. Hope you all enjoyed the update, and we will definitely be getting back to John and Jim in the next chapter. ;)
> 
> (We clearly need to know where Jim is keeping that phone signal jammer, these are obviously the important questions)


	7. Toot Sweets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a conversation is had, names are named, and songs are played, in that order.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Thanks for all of the amazing comments, and I'm so glad that everyone is enjoying this story! Now that exams are over, I can finally indulge in some writing and we can finally find out what John and Jim have been up to. ;)

_“Don’t waste your pucker on some all day sucker, and don’t try a toffee or cream.  If you seek perfection in sugar confection, well there’s something new on the scene.” – Caractacus Potts_

 

Now, one thing that everyone subconsciously knows about catching a cab in the city is that there are cabs everywhere except for when you desperately need one.  There is either a large infestation of yellow and black that creates a gridlock straight from hell when you are already in your own car, or there is not a single cab in sight and you needed to be somewhere five minutes ago.  There is no equilibrium. Under nearly all circumstances when you call a cab, you have to wait at least ten minutes for the driver to get to your location. 

 

Up until 5 minutes ago, the previous sentence used to read “Under _ALL_ circumstances”, without the _nearly_ included.  This is due to the fact that John Hamish Watson was quickly realizing that things such as ‘all circumstances’ or ‘rules’ don’t apply when you are roaming around London with Mr. Napoleon of Crime himself.  So even though John knew this, he was still surprised when a cab pulled up to 221B Baker Street as soon as the door closed behind them without being called, and the cab driver actually got out of the car and opened the back seat door for them to enter as if he were a valet.

 

John, deciding that he had nothing to lose, ducked his head as he eased himself into the back of a surprisingly clean cab.  However, if he had have turned around he would have noticed a certain criminal consultant leering rather unsubtly at his rear.  Unfortunately, John spent the next 4 seconds scooting over to take his seat and thus only saw Jim gracefully climb into the cab and take his place behind the driver.  Without being told where their destination was, the cab driver started to ease back into traffic.  Puzzled for a moment, John quickly realized that Jefferson Hope couldn’t have been the only cab driver on Moriarty’s payroll.

 

“So, do you have an ongoing tab with the cabs of London?” John asked in a low voice, as to not draw the attention of the cab driver over the 80s pop music that was playing over the radio.  Jim turned to face John, his Napoleon of Crime smile sliding over his face as he casually inspected his fingernails and replied, “Good question, Johnny Boy.  Well, you know how Sherly has his little ‘homeless network’ that he is so proud of?  Now imagine that, but _MY_ network is practically every single cab driver in the heart of London.”

 

John could feel his jaw drop in surprise at that revelation, and he stammered, “So...so...wait...you knew every single place at that Sherlock and I went every time we got in a cab?”

 

“Pretty much, Johnny Boy.” Jim casually replied, while casually inspecting his appearance in the reflection of the car window.

 

“That’s...impressive, and rather ingenious.”  John replied, subconsciously running his hands down his trouser legs in an effort to smooth the fabric as he took in the shear amount of power that the Irish man beside him so effortlessly wielded.  John looked up, and noticed that the criminal mastermind was sitting still, and a great deal more uncomfortably than he was a moment ago.

 

“You...really think so?” Jim asked after a moment of silence.

“What do you mean?” John asked, going over his last statement for anything that could have confused the consulting criminal and drawing a blank.

“That...having my cab network is an ingenious idea?” Jim asked quietly.

“Oh, well yea, that’s what I just said...” John reiterated as he started at Jim in confusion.

“That’s...it’s just not what I would expect people to say if they found out that I was tracking their every movement through their friendly neighbourhood cabby,” Jim replied.

“Why?” John asked, “Oh...well I guess that most people would find it creepy, but you are THE consulting criminal of London. I would frankly be disappointed if you didn’t have some way of keeping track of various person of interest or your enemies.”

 

Now, Jim thought about this exchange as he took in the earnest face of the army captain sitting beside him looking quite fabulous in his new trousers.  Little Jimmy was always teased by his relatives for having a photographic memory that was a main key to his success in both the world of mathematics and the world of slightly less legal applications of mathematics.  James “Jimmy” Worth gained this valuable skill from his mother, Jean Worth née Moriarty, and wielded it like a whip that would strike as fast as lightning. 

 

So, it was impossible for Jim to not harness the feeling of déjà vu that he was feeling about the conversation and follow that trail in his mind to recall the last time he overheard an eerily similar conversation.  John himself just said how every cab in central London was part of Jim Moriarty’s crime web, but John did not know that Jim listened to the recordings pulled from the first night that John Watson and Sherlock Holmes spent together (in a totally platonic way, thank you very much) and thus heard the exchange that would build the foundations of a friendship that Sherlock would cast away like an old, half-melted piece of candy.  So, it was this more than any words that had been exchanged between the two of them that solidified John H. Watson’s place in Moriarty’s cold, neglected heart.  Jim knew that John truly meant those words when he said them to Sherlock those months ago, and so Jim knew that John meant them now.  It was John’s constant unfailing acceptance and encouragement of the uniqueness of others and his humble nature that truly made Jim Moriarty’s heart take a metaphorical step over the edge and start to fall in love with the army doctor.

 

And fall he did.

 

Of course, all of these brilliant and mind-boggling conclusions were made within the brilliant mind of Jim Moriarty over the span of a few seconds.  Thus, the idea that Jim could possibly start to be falling _IN LOVE_ with the unassuming man sitting next to him felt more like a shot to the head than the graceful swooning often depicted in romance novels.

 

Unbeknownst to Jim, John was treated to a beautiful blush that rose on Jim’s face that reminded him of the beautiful sunrise that had occurred that very morning, and was curious as to what had triggered it.  After a few moments, Jim cleared his throat, and turned to John saying, “Ok...Johnny Boy, pull out that list of yours and we can finalize a few details about my parents before we meet them.”

 

John nodded and pulled the list out of his pocket and just as he was about to ask for a pen, he noticed that the cabby already had a pen in his hand and was holding it back for John to take.

“Um...thanks mate” John hesitantly replied, taking the offered pen and removing the cap.

“So, probably knowing your parent’s real names would be useful if I am supposed to be in a committed relationship with you.  My father’s name was Harold Watson, he died while I was overseas from liver failure, and of course he was narcissistic enough to name my sister Harriet after himself, which is why she so staunchly refers to herself as Harry just to spite him.  My mother’s name was Scarlet, but she died when I was 9...but you probably already know all that from my file.” John said, quickly jotting the names down on the bottom left hand corner of the paper while balancing it on his leg under the heading “The Enemy – Family Watson”. 

“What about you?” John asked, looking up at Jim expectantly.

 

Jim hesitated for a moment, acutely aware of his companion’s gaze upon him, and it was after a few moments of realizing that there was no way to get out of this he replied, “My father’s name is Evan Worth, and my mother’s name was Jean Moriarty.  After she died, I took her last name.  I guess...I guess I thought that if I kept her name I would always be able to carry a piece of her around with me where ever I went.  Her name was something that my father couldn’t take away from me...it must seem foolish, but I couldn’t let her memory fall to the wayside.  Especially not after my father married the _honorable and beautiful_ Lady Georgina Gainsborough, who is the Duchess of Devonshire.  She has her own line of completely revolting over-the-top hats in upscale boutiques throughout London, and also suffers from narcissism.  There is a hideous painting of her hanging over the mantle place in my old house where my mother’s portrait used to hang.  She of course came along with two obnoxious children: Richard and Mary Gainsborough.  Richard is a failure of an actor and has been starring for horrid children’s television shows for the last 5 years, and his stage name is Richard Brook.  Mary is the child that can do no wrong, and she is married to this insipid man named David, and they have a son who is the only family member I can stand named Archie.  So that’s pretty much it...” Jim replied, with John silently scribbling down the names of Jim’s relatives in a second column titled “The Enemy – Family Worth”, but John wrote ‘Archie – Ally?’ in a separate column next to it. 

 

After John finished writing, the two sat in companionable silence for several moments, swaying with the natural momentum of the cab as it tucked and weaved through the London traffic.  80s music continued to pour from the stereo, with the cabby turning up the volume on certain songs that John realized must be Jim’s favourites.

 

Breaking the silence, Jim commented, “We will be at the restaurant in a few minutes, is there anything else we need to discuss before we start our march to the scaffold?”.

John pondered this for a moment, and started to blush when he realized that they had forgotten to discuss the most important part of the entire charade.

 

“Umm...well...we probably need to discuss...public displays of affection...and how...comfortable we should be around each other...in front of your parents...” John trailed off, cautiously looking at Jim from under his eyelashes to see the criminal mastermind’s response.

 

Jim’s face also reddened at the thought of being openly affectionate to anyone, let alone the doctor sitting beside him.  Clearing his throat, Jim replied “Well...it would be strange if we had no physical contact whatsoever, but let’s save the groping session for a slightly less public setting.  One of my step mother’s pet peeves that she thinks I don't know about is when couples hold hands under the table.  It puts this hilarious pucker on her face that looks like she’s eaten a revolting flavoured lollypop.  You have _got_ to see the duck face she makes, Johnny Boy, so put that down on the list of acceptable...as you put it...PDA”.  John dutifully created another column on the page reading “Methods of Attack – Acceptable PDA”, and added it under the heading. 

 

“We could also generally hold hands, I could always put my arm around your shoulder: we want to make it seem like we’ve passed the revolting stage of relationships that are characteristic of overly unsubtle make-out sessions, and so we don’t need to constantly be aware of the other’s presence.” Jim rattled off as John nodded and added those points to the list.

 

John looked up at Jim and said “But there’s still one thing that we haven’t discussed...and that is...well...kissing.  Would you be comfortable with me kissing you in front of your parents?  Not...as you so eloquently put it...an ‘overly unsubtle make-out session’, but just small pecks to the cheek or the mouth...this is something that I have discussed with other people I have ‘fake dated’ and it’s totally fine to say no, this is all about respecting boundaries and making sure we are both comfortable.”

 

Jim was quiet for a moment, and answered “I...I would not be opposed to kissing you in front of my parents if you are fine with it, they know that I am gay and so they wouldn’t freak out and make a scene.  But...”

“But what, Jim?” John asked intently.

“But...this is going to sound so sappy, but I don’t want our first kiss together to be in front of my father and step mother.” Jim replied, refusing to look John in the eye.

 

Suddenly the radio turned up again as the cabby identified another song loved by the criminal mastermind, and the beginning of an 80s pop rock song started to flow throughout the cab.  However, this did not break the bubble that surrounded the two gentlemen who were sitting in the back.

 

John, knowing that what he said at this moment was critical, slowly replied, “Well, I don’t think it’s sappy at all... I think it’s surprisingly sweet of you.”

“Sweet?: Jim scoffed, “I can blow up all of Central London with a text and you think I’m sweet? I have been responsible for the deaths of hundreds of people, the rigging on several important elections, and you think I’m as sweet as a toffee or cream?  I’m a man who’s not only lied to his parents about having a fake boyfriend while trying to run a criminal empire, but has also decided to follow the advice of every cheesy rom-com film out there and acquire an actual fake boyfriend! If anything, I am _more_ of a psychopath than I thought I was, and maybe we should just call the whole thing off!”

 

Jim’s chest heaved with the emotional outburst and he turned away from John in favour of staring out the window. John could see the man figuratively and literally closing off and pulling away from John despite all of their progress that morning.  It broke John’s heart to see how the pressures of living essentially a double life had taxed Jim, reducing Jim to a creature of little more than fire and ash.  A creature only capable of destruction and ruin. A creature that did not see itself worthy of the love or care of another.  Jim had been this creature for so long, most likely from the moment his mother died, that John was determined that with a bit of help Jim could transform into a phoenix and create new life from the embers.

 

With this newfound determination and fire in his heart, John boldly slid closer to Jim, placing his hand gently on the side of Jim’s face.  Jim, surprised at the sudden contact, looked up at John with wide eyes as the lyrics of the song on the radio washed over the two, proclaiming:

 

_I want to break free,_

_I want to break free,_

_I want to break free from your lies,_

_You’re so self-satisfied I don’t need you_

_I’ve got to break free, God knows_

_God knows I want to break free_

_I’ve fallen in lo-_

 

And with that, John pulled Jim close and softly placed his lips on Jim’s in a chaste kiss.  As John started to pull away, John felt Jim’s hand come up and thread in his hair, pulling John closer and deepening the kiss.  It was at this moment, in the back of a cab that had been circling the same block for the last 5 minutes that these two created what would be the sparks of a fire that would burn brilliant, bright, and long throughout the ages.  The two continued to kiss in the back seat, with Jim swiping his tongue along John’s lip, seeking permission to deepening their kiss even further.  When the need for air became too great, they slowly pulled away from each other and John’s thumb caressed the sharp edge of Jim’s cheek bone.  Before John knew it, Jim was pulling John in for another kiss, this one bolder and more assured than the first, but no less perfect.

 

Later Jim and John would declare that their kisses in the back of the cab was the very picture of innocence and romance.

 

But according to a cabby that was sworn to secrecy, it was totally an overly unsubtle make-out session, and both men wouldn’t have had it any other way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope this makes up for the slow update ;) Next chapter will definitely be the long-anticipated luncheon with the Worth family, and with a few surprises and reveals sprinkled throughout. So stay tuned, and comments are highly encouraged! :)


	8. Chu-Chi Face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which translations are made, war is waged, and a bird of prey is discovered, not necessarily in that order.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey Everyone! So this is the big one, the one we've all been waiting for, the ultimate showdown between our dynamic duo and Jim's horrible parents. I am so grateful for all of the positive comments I've received for this story, and those comments are what inspired this chapter. Enjoy! :)

_“And you’re my little teddy bear. My lovey, lovey dovey little teddy bear.  You’re the apfel strudel of mein eye”_

_– Baroness Bomburst_

 

Regardless of how much a person claims to like their job, there is always one aspect of that specific job that the person simply cannot stand.  Whether it is talking to irate customers on the phone, trying to type formulas in Excel that resemble hieroglyphics, or memorizing the formula for the latest featured drink at Starbucks, there is always an aspect of a job that people cannot stand but suffer through for the sake of the pay check they receive at the end of the day.

 

Money truly makes you do horrible, _terrible_ things.

 

So, it would come as a surprise to most that the one aspect of being a criminal mastermind that Jim Moriarty actually hated was torture.

 

It was not because he had a weak stomach, hated gore, or had some sort of moral compass.  No, Jim Moriarty hated torture because he simply had seen it all.  To a seasoned criminal overlord like Jim Moriarty, torture had lost all of its appeal because it had become monotonous.  The whole “tell me what you know or I’ll start with your toes” shtick only had so many variations, and only the information that was gained at the end of a successful session or the message that could be sent by such a display was why Moriarty even bothered with it.

 

Strangulation was old, decapitation was blasé, impaling a person on a stake was soooo last century, and even dropping someone into a well and drowning them as the water level slowly rose had lost all of its pizzazz.  Jim Moriarty, the Napoleon of Crime, had officially run out of exotic ideas to successfully torture a person to insanity.

 

Or so he had thought.

 

Because what Jim Moriarty had never even considered within the realm of possibility was the utter _agony_ that one must endure when they are meeting parents they can’t stand with their fake boyfriend that they just met on their arm for a luncheon.

 

It’s utter _agony_.

 

It wasn’t that Jim thought that John wouldn’t do a good job of pretending to be his fake boyfriend, oh no, John had done a _thorough_ job in proving his skills to him in the back seat of the cab.  It was the fact that a person who knew and feared Jim Moriarty would catch a glimpse into the melancholy life of little Jimmy Worth, and that prospect was _horrifying_.  Jim had never had a person straddling the state line of his family life and criminal undertakings like Jamie in _A Walk to Remember_ (and if anyone where to ever know that Jim had seen that movie at least twenty times they would NEVER take another breath), and Jim was terrified with how John would react.

 

So, as the cab rolled to a stop at the restaurant that would mark the beginning of the end (or as Jim would begrudgingly refer to it many years later: the beginning of the beginning), Jim was hesitant to leave the sanctuary of the back seat.  Despite John’s reassurances, there was still a part of Jim that was nervous about the entire plan and the possibility of it falling apart spectacularly in a figurative and potentially literal explosion.  Jim looked down at his clenched hands, and berated himself for letting those...those _people_ get to him and shatter his cool cunning and razor-sharp wit. His thoughts continued to spiral downwards, as his brilliant mind concocted hundreds of darker and more elaborate scenarios of how everything could go completely and utterly wron-

 

_Warmth, beautiful, comforting warmth._

 

Jim startled out of his stormy thoughts to the sensation of a warm hand being slowly placed on his cheek, and another on his hands that were being clenched so tightly that his knuckles were turning white.  When he looked up, Jim became lost in the deep, rich blue eyes of John Watson that calmed the crashing waves of his mind’s ocean.  John was smiling encouragingly, and said quietly “If you are having second thoughts about this whole ‘fake relationship’ thing, we can call the whole thing off right now, and no one will be the wiser.”

Jim was about to interrupt, but John tightened his grip on Jim’s folded hands and continued, “But if you do want to go through with this, just know that I am with you every step of the way.  I am completely in your corner.  If your step-mother argues that the sky is blue and you say it’s red, I will argue with her and make up three peer-reviewed scientific papers that declare that she’s wrong.  If you say that would want me to punch someone out, I will have already done it and ask you who you want me to clock next.  What I’m trying to say is, I will have your back from the moment we exit this cab to the moment we get back in it again.  I would try to convince you more, but probably everything that I have to say has already crossed that brilliant mind of yours.”

 

Jim smiled brightly as he heard his own, albeit paraphrased, words being said back to him, only in a much more intimate setting than the side of a pool with a dozen snipers pointed at them.  Jim took a deep breath, relishing in the fact that throughout John’s entire speech, his hand had not moved from its place on his cheek.  The warmth of John’s palm seemed to have the power to drive away all of the negative thoughts that so often plagued his mind when he was idle and had no active criminal plots to weave.  However, there was still that one dark thought attempting to remind him that all of this wasn’t real and that John was only saying these things because of their deal, but the way that John’s thumb was subconsciously massaging the side of his cheek by his ear was effective in silencing that voice of doubt for the moment and allowing Jim to push it to the far reaches of his mind.

 

“Ok” Jim replied after a moment of silence. Seeing the genuine trust and fire in John’s eyes gave Jim the confidence he needed to smile brightly and exclaim, “I think we may just be able to pull this off, Johnny Boy.  Let’s go blow this popsicle stand up!”

John chuckled, and blushed when he realized that his hands were still on the consulting criminal.  Slowly removing his hands, he made to unfasten his seatbelt and replied, “I’d hate to burst your bubble, Jim, but I think the saying goes ‘let’s blow this popsicle stand’.”

As Jim too unbuckled his seatbelt, with his usual swagger he turned to face John and said, “Trust me, Johnny Boy, watching a popsicle stand blow up is a highly entertaining experience.  However, there is something to be said for the entertainment value of _blowing_ _other things_ , but we have to wait until at least the third date, Milkshake.”  

 

And with a wink to the completely red-faced army doctor, Jim Moriarty grabbed the door handle and stepped out into the sunshine of the afternoon ready to face his demons with his very own blonde-haired, blue-eyed, avenging archangel by his side.

 

* * *

 

 

It took a few moments for the blush recede from John’s face as he stepped out of the cab and made his way towards Jim.  “The game is _on_.” John thought, as he placed his hand on Jim’s extended elbow and fell into step with the most dangerous man in London.  The pair walked into the up-scale French restaurant and made their way to the severe looking maître d’ to give their names.  “Good afternoon, I believe my step-mother the Duchess of Devonshire has made reservations for this afternoon?” Jim asked as nonchalantly as if he was stating the weather.

The maître d’ responded with a bland “Of course, sir, if you would follow me?”, and had a server escort them to the inner dining room that housed crème coloured arches and a powder blue ceiling.  They navigated their way through the beautiful restaurant following their server to the back, all the while admiring the artwork that lined the far walls.

 

As they came in site of the table they were to be seated at, John’s eyes widened at the site before him and he struggled to keep a straight face.  Jim was clearly struggling as well, albeit better than John was fairing, because at the far end of the room at a circular table sat a woman with the most ridiculous hat in existence.  The large black monstrosity seemed to cling to the woman’s curly hair by sheer determination to defy gravity, and two large black feathers stuck out of the side gave the whole ensemble the effect of a large bird of prey trying to devour the poor woman’s head. “Well...Jim _did_ say that the woman was not a very good hat designer...” John thought as Jim subtly elbowed him in the side to put an end to any snickers that may have emerged.  A quick glance at Jim’s face showed that Jim was clinging to the cool mask of indifference he was donning with every bit of strength he had, and desperately wanted to roll on the floor laughing hysterically.  John gave a crooked grin to Jim, and Jim muttered “I’ve always found that the size of my step-mother’s hats is directly proportional to the size of her ego on any current day, which means we are in for some trouble.”

 

As they closed in on the table, they were finally able to catch a glimpse of the man who was completely eclipsed by the black bird of prey.  Evan Worth was a slender, moustached, dark-haired man with streaks of silver at his temples, and John could spot a few shared features between the man in the chair and the man who’s arm he was on.  Both men had the same brow, a similar build, and the same nose, but there was a... certain spark that was missing from Evan Worth’s flat brown eyes that was always burning in the rich brown eyes of the enigma that was Jim Moriarty. 

 

Jim cleared his throat and addressed the table in a calm even voice stating, “Good afternoon Father, _Georgina_ , I would like for you to meet my _significant other,_ _Doctor_ John Watson.”  To the untrained ear, one would have taken that statement as no more than an oddly formal greeting between family members of high society.  But John’s passive aggressive mental filter could practically see the sass and challenge dripping from that statement, effectively throwing down the gauntlet for the afternoon’s battle of wits. 

“John, this is my father, Evan Worth, and my step-mother, Lady Georgina Gainsborough, the woman who _stole_ my father's heart.” Jim continued, and Mr. Worth stood and shook John’s hand before they were seated.  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.” John said, but what was running through his head was, “Not a particularly good handshake, and that is probably indicative of his character.”, as Mr. Worth tried but failed to look intimidating in his white suit and peach coloured tie.  “Clearly Jim does not get his fashion sense from his father.” John thought as he turned to take Lady Gainsborough’s hand in a more delicate handshake, and took in the woman who thought she could get away with tormenting his Jim.

 

Lady Gainsborough, her horrendous taste in hates hat aside, was not an unattractive woman. Eyebrows perfectly drawn, cheeks properly rouged, a relatively modest white and gold gown, and just the right amount of Botox made her seem like she stepped out of a 19th Century painting perfectly preserved.  However, the malicious gleam in her grey eyes immediately put John on guard as he let go of the lady’s hand and they all moved to take their seats.

 

John smiled his “I-am-an-innocent-hedgehog-and-everyone-loves-me face”, as Mike Stamford fondly called it, and added, “I am so glad that Jim invited me to lunch with you both.”  As they sat down, John strategically took the seat next to Jim’s step-mother so that Jim could sit as far away from the woman as possible.  The waiter quickly brought an assortment of breads for them to try, and poured them each a glass of water while they perused the menu.

 

After a few moments of silence, Jim decided to break the tension before it had a chance to settle in an take off its jacket by saying, “So, Father, it has _really_ been too long since we last spoke...at least a year, hasn’t it? How have you been doing?”.

 

“Same as always my boy: the estate is well, Richy and Mary are always close to home to help, and your stepmother just hosted a large gala for her new spring collection.” Mr. Worth said, reaching for a slice of bread from the basket and slathering an unhealthy amount of butter on its surface.

 

John, familiar with people’s abilities to hide insults in seemingly innocuous statements, translated the sentence as such: “We are doing just as well even though you have not contacted us for more than a year, our business is thriving despite your absence, your step-siblings are doing more to contribute to the family than you are, and your step-mother hosted a large gala and you were not invited.”

 

That _asshole_.

 

John’s talent at reading through statements was not one that was cultivated with his time with Sherlock.  Growing up as a Watson in his father’s household meant that nothing you did was ever correct, everything was your fault even if it wasn’t, and that you had to put up the appearance of a kind, loving, family for the neighbours.  So, from a young age John learned the art of distinguishing the fine line between was _good_ and _not good_ to say, and how to phrase a sentence to make something that was a _bit not good_ sound pleasant.  John’s ability to “cut through the bullshit” was admired in the army, and was part of the reason why he was so successful at dealing with both cocky generals and egotistical surgeons without ruffling too many feathers.

 

“They want to play dirty, I’ll give them dirty.” John thought as he took a sip of water.

 

“So John, may I call you John?” Lady Gainsborough said, addressing the table at large without waiting for John to say whether she _could_ in fact call him John, “Why don’t you tell us a bit about yourself and how you met our little Jimmy here?  I can’t imagine that it was a whirlwind romance destined for the big screen, our Jimmy is more interested in numbers than romance I’m sure.”

 

John was glad that he had only taken a sip of water so that he could stall for time by reaching for a piece of bread.  Having something to chew was important he had learned from a young age, as it always bought you more time when trying to think of excuses or decipher what someone was truly meaning.  Once he placed his distraction on his plate, John began to weave his tale by starting with, “Jim is actually incredible at a number of things, besides being a brilliant mathematician he is the best partner that anyone could dream of.”

 

And with that, John began to tell the story of how they met according to their master plan: how Jim was at the pool taking a break, how he had immediately caught John’s eye, and the subsequent wooing and dinner that ended their first date.  John didn’t run a popular blog for nothing: he was able to tell the story they had agreed upon by giving just enough detail to make it sound realistic, but not too much detail that it sounded scripted.

 

“And, so we’ve been together ever since.  I have read almost all of his publications, and the breakthroughs that he has singlehandedly made are absolutely mind-blowing.  We’ve both had busy schedules lately, so this lunch was the perfect opportunity for us to spend some time together and for me to learn more about Jim’s family.  He often speaks of you all, and so when you called and invited us to lunch I was happy to come along as well.” John said, taking Jim’s hand in his and winking at him.

 

The entire time John was recounting his tale, John could tell that Lady Gainsborough was paying particular attention to each and every detail.  John knew that Lady Gainsborough was going to be the real challenge in this rouse, and that everything he had just stated was going ‘on record’ and any and all comments would be compared to search for any inaccuracies.  The waiter, as if sensing that John had finished his account of their fictional love origin story, stepped to the table and they all placed their respective orders.

 

Once the waiter left, Lady Gainsborough again turned her focus on John and said, “I’m so glad that our Jimmy is the apple of your eye.  He’s always struggled with social interaction, not like his step-brother Richard.  So, John, what type of doctor are you? Are you a _real_ doctor, like the type that our Mary is studying to become, or are you going to be the type of doctor that just writes a very long paper and gets to call himself a doctor?”

 

Now this statement was easily to translate, but was a loaded mine-field of a question.  What she said was basically: I am the interrogator and you will answer all of my questions to my satisfaction, my daughter Mary is superior to Jim and yourself because she is studying to be a ‘real’ medical doctor instead of getting her Ph.D., and I do not value any of the achievements my step-son has made or will make in the future. 

 

On top of all that, the question was difficult to answer, because if John agreed that he was a medical doctor, he could inadvertently put Jim down by claiming that his doctorate in mathematics was not worthy of the title ‘doctor’.  So, John decided to answer the question diplomatically and also throw in a segway to change the topic by responding, “Actually, I was originally an army doctor with the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers in Afghanistan until I was honourably discharged because I was wounded in action.”, hoping to distract them with his military career.

 

At this comment, Mr. Worth seemed to perk up and stated, “I _knew_ there was a military bearing about you from the way you sit in your chair.  You see, _I_ was a military man once upon a time; I was a _sergeant_ in the Second York Heavy Artillery during the war.  I had an astronomical amount of responsibility on my young shoulders, nothing that Jimmy here could ever imagine.”

Taking a quick glance at Jim, John could see how the young man beside him was seething at the vindictive words that were being said offhandedly by his parents as Jim tore into his bread roll.  John could see the blood-thirsty panther that was ready to strike, and John couldn’t wait to watch Jim eviscerate his prey.

 

“Well, Father, you will be surprised to know that not only was John the chief medical surgeon in his unit, he also held the rank of Captain before he was injured saving a group of children from a burning building.  So really, _Father,_ you should have stood up and saluted when John came to the table since you love to follow protocol.” Jim stated, pausing to take a sip of water and see the damage that statement had caused.

 

Mr. Worth bristled at the statement, and if looks could kill, Lady Gainsborough would have been the next person Lestrade put behind bars.

 

At this point, John would be lying if he said that he was not having an absolute blast with tormenting Jim’s family.  The look of victory on Jim’s face was priceless, however, John wanted Jim’s family to see just how successful he was without them and how he could surpass all of his step-sibling’s achievements.

 

So, John decided to test Jim’s improvisation abilities and said, “Oh, Jim, have you told your parents about your interview with the writers for that American History Channel show?  What day does that air again? Remind me to record it on the telly when we get home.”  John made a great show of pulling out his phone from his pocket and going to the calendar app, as he could see that she was trying to peer over the edge of the phone to catch a glimpse at the screen.

 

John took delight in the way that Jim’s eyebrows playfully lifted in realization as to what John was playing at, and replied nonchalantly, “The documentary will be airing in a few weeks, they needed a mathematician to explain the underlying physics behind their astronomical theory. They actually emailed me last week and said that it is going to be part of a new mini-series that will air across the States, so I will have to give more interviews and get some extra screen time.”

 

“Well played, Johnny Boy! I always suspected that my little teddy bear had some sharp claws on him.  Who’s so high and mighty in their sad career filming revolting children’s shows now, Rich?” Jim thought as he gave a playful squeeze to John’s hand to show his appreciation at the spur-of-the-moment addition to their ruse and got more comfortable in his seat. 

 

“Note to self, write a documentary about space phenomenon and have myself star in it on Thursday...I can bump back the meeting with that drug cartel to Saturday afternoon and I can call in a favour with the History Channel” Jim thought as he took deep pleasure in the flush that was slowly escalating his horrid step-mother’s face.

 

“Georgina, is Richard still working on those...colourful...children’s shows, or has he decided to work in the real film industry like myself?” Jim said aloud as he smirked into his glass, getting ready for the fireworks that were certain to explode brilliantly at this remark against Georgina’s favourite son.

 

Years from now Jim would look back at this moment and wonder how fate...how fortune...or what type of magic could have made John Watson his.  Jim knew he didn’t deserve a man as kind hearted, as witty, as surprisingly sadistic when it came to avenging those who wronged the ones he loved as John Watson.  But what Jim Moriarty didn’t know was that at this exact moment, John was thinking the _exact_ same thing about Jim, and how together they made an absolutely perfect pair. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun dun dunnnn! So next update we will definitely have the conclusion of this...interesting...luncheon, but will that truly mark the end for our Jim and his Johnny boy's time together? Will a figurative OR a literal bomb be dropped at the end of the luncheon that will influence their futures? All this and more will be coming up in the next update, and comments and kudos are always welcome!
> 
> For those of you who are interested in seeing what Lady Gainsborough looks like (as well as the ridiculous hat), copy and paste the link below into your search bar to learn more, and who knows what else you may discover. ;)
> 
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Portrait_of_Georgiana,_Duchess_of_Devonshire


	9. Batman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the reason for lunch is revealed, tempers flare, and deals are made, in that order.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi Everyone! Sorry for such a late update, exam season was in full swing for the last month and a bit, so finding time to write was hard to come by. This chapter is dedicated to Adam West, who without a doubt is my favourite Batman, and who will always hold a special place in my heart as the superhero of my childhood. 
> 
> So without further ado, I bring you the conclusion to the much anticipated luncheon.

_“At your age, I did a day’s work for a day’s pay, polishing boots.  I was the smartest batman in the army.  When my brigadier went into action, the natives were so blinded by his boots, they couldn’t see to fight!” – Grandpa Potts_

 

There has always been one question that is universally hated by all those who are asked it.  It doesn’t matter if you work in retail, business, science, the arts, or whether you are simply watching Netflix on your couch; this one question never fails to strike dread into those who are asked it because they know that regardless of their answer, they are not going to be happy with the result of the conversation.

 

This question is: “Do you want the good news, or the bad news first?”

 

Part of the reason why this question is so hated is because it sparks the argument over whether there is any benefit to hearing the ‘good’ news first, or the ‘bad’ news first.  On one hand, if you hear the bad news first, you can hope that the good news will make you feel better about the situation.  On the other hand, hearing the good news first may better prepare you for hearing the bad news.  Many choose the former option, hoping that after being delivered a blow by the bad news, there must be some good news that will give you the strength and the motivation to continue on and fight the next day.

 

From an early age, however, Jimmy Worth learned that it doesn’t really matter which one you hear first, because both ways end in disappointment and heartbreak.  First, Jimmy Worth was asked by the doctors “Do you want to hear the good news, or the bad news first?” when his mother had died, and he had asked for the bad news first.  After the crippling blow had been dealt, the apparent ‘good’ news was that his Father had found another woman (never mind that he had been seeing this other woman while he was still married) that could be Jim’s new mother.  From that moment on, Jimmy realized that you couldn’t trust the good news to be truly good, so maybe it would be better to just get it out of the way first, and then hear the true bad news. 

 

Thus, when Jimmy Worth was later asked the same question of, “Do you want the good news, or the bad news first?” by his mother’s lawyer, Jimmy thought that he should ask for the good news first, just to test out his hypothesis.  His mother’s lawyer stated, “Well, the good news is that your mother left you her estate containing the waterfalls.  However, the bad news is that your father’s name is also on the deed, so you cannot receive the land until he signs it over to you.”  Jimmy loved those waterfalls, and even though one of the falls was the site of his mother’s death (which Jimmy suspected, and later confirmed was by the hands of one Mr. Powers), he did not allow that to cast a shadow on his love of those falls and the beautiful moments that he shared with his mother as she taught him the beauty of the running water and the biodiversity that existed around them.

 

So, at that moment Jimmy Worth vowed that he would never find himself in a situation where he could be asked that question, and soon the Napoleon of Crime emerged from the recesses of London.  After 3 years of planning, Jim Moriarty was able to summon his newly trained ‘minions’ and take out the existing criminal lords of London, and seized his throne of the criminal underworld without challenge. 

 

And honey, you should _see him_ in his crown.

 

Thus, Jim Moriarty _became_ the person who got to ask _others_ that hated question, and soon Jim’s kingdom literally spanned the entire globe.  Moriarty is the name that no one says. Moriarty is the name that surprisingly inspires loyalty amongst thieves.  Moriarty is the key that opens locked rooms.  Moriarty is the name that Sherlock Holmes could never even begin to comprehend because it is more than just a man.  Moriarty quickly became the concept of perfectly _elegant,_ untouchable criminality, all because a little boy was sick and tired of being told bad news by grown-ups that were trying to pull the wool over his eyes.

 

And isn’t that poetic justice?

 

Thus, every member of Moriarty’s web, every single one, knew that if Moriarty asked you if you wanted the good news or the bad news first, you were probably not walking out of that room alive.  Because if you put Moriarty in a position where he has to ask you that question, or heaven forbid _you_ asked him that question, there is nothing in heaven or hell that could save you from his wrath and the terror that will soon befall you.

 

After a few minutes of banter and their meals were served, Jim finally leaned forward saying, “So, Father, if you have finished beating a rather extravagant path around the proverbial bush, you should tell me exactly why you invited John and I to lunch?  We both have a very pressing schedule, so tell us why you have suddenly taken an interest in my love life?”

 

“You never were one for small talk were you, Jimmy?” Mr. Worth said, pausing to take a bite of the grilled salmon that had been placed in front of him. “Well, the truth is that I have good news and bad news about the family estate and we need your help, which do you want to hear first?”

 

Red, blood red swam across Jim Moriarty’s vision, and if he did not have such profound control on his natural bloodlust, he would have reached into his phone, pressed the (*) key twice, and had the 6 snipers that he had guarding the perimeter of the restaurant unload their clips into the couple sitting in front of him.

 

It was only the startling pressure of John’s hand squeezing Jim’s hand that brought him out of his almost Berserker-like rage and allowed him to resurrect his mental walls that had unexpectedly been assaulted.

 

Jim ground his teeth together, and in his fake pleasant voice he replied, “I don't want to hear either first, daddy dearest, just tell me the situation as it is and I will see whether John and I wish to provide our assistance.”

 

* * *

 

John was shocked to see the look of pure fury that took over Jim’s face after his father asked for Jim’s help, and quickly grabbed Jim’s hand to prevent him from having an outburst that he would regret having later.

 

A chill went down John’s spine as he heard Jim say, “I don't want to hear either first, daddy dearest, just tell me the situation as it is and I will see whether John and I wish to provide our assistance”, because that was the _exact_ mocking tone of voice that Moriarty had used with Sherlock at the pool while a dozen snipers had their sights trained on them.

 

John knew that he would have to step up his game if Jim was using his ‘criminal consultant’ voice with his parents, or people were going to die quickly. But at this point, John knew that the best course of action for him to take was to again follow his army training and sit, observe, and acquire information so that he could support his ‘brother-in-arms’ while trying to eat his roasted chicken.

 

Mr. Worth seemed to realize Jim’s anger, and was about to start explaining the situation when Lady Gainsborough interjected, saying “Evan dear, do you really think that you should be discussing serious family matters in front of someone who is a stranger?  Maybe John should step out for a while so that we can talk more candidly...how do we even know that John isn’t just some...some _person_ that Jim hired to be his boyfriend for the day?  I for one have never even heard of John before this afternoon.  Shame on you Jimmy for-“

 

SLAM!

 

Jim, finally losing his hold on his temper, slammed his hand down on the table, rattling the glasses and silverware.

 

“That is QUITE enough of that!” Jim said in a cold tone that John knew meant that heads would soon start to roll.  John could see that the fire in Jim’s eyes before was nothing compared to the inferno that John could see was waiting to bring fire and brimstone onto these creatures that dared to call Jim their kin.  And John was glad that he would be the one to help pour the kerosene. 

 

John started to slowly rub the back of Jim’s hand where they were entwined under the table to show his support for whatever Jim was going to say next, and Jim continued, “I will have you know that John and I are in a serious relationship, and we have already decided to move in together at the end of the month.  John is not only a kind and caring man, but he is someone that deserves the utmost respect.  So, if I _ever_ hear you say anything against my John again, _Lady Gainsborough_ , you can trust me when I say that you will regret it.  You say that you have never heard of John until now, but you definitely would have if you both were even a bit interested in my life up until this point.  John isn’t going anywhere anytime soon, so to quote those romantic films you love so much, ‘anything you have to say to me you can also say in front of John’.  So, _Father_ , if you do want my help digging yourself out of whatever hole you’ve made for yourself, you better explain now or else John and I are walking out that door, and I never want to see you again.”

 

Mr. Worth and Lady Gainsborough looked taken aback at Jim’s vehement defence of John, and John realized at that moment that these two individuals have never seen the much darker, violent side of Jim Moriarty that was feared by all those who knew him.  Jim must have let these people he called parents push him around for _years_ without being able to show his true wrath and strength, so John was happy that he could help Jim execute some vengeance.

 

There was also a small, selfish part of John’s mind that was hoping that Jim actually meant the words that he so passionately said about John, and that they were not part of the charade that they were performing for Jim’s parents.  Compliments and words of encouragement were extinct in the Watson household while John was growing up, and his cohabitation with Sherlock wasn’t doing any wonders in the self-esteem department either.  Sherlock was always the first person to point out how ‘blind’ John could be, and whenever any of the members of Scotland Yard made fun of John or tried to belittle him, Sherlock never stood up for him or told them to back off.  John didn’t mind constantly standing up for Sherlock, as during his childhood John had to stand up for both himself and his mother, but he was tired of being consistently taken for granted and being treated like he was worthless.  That feeling was part of the reason why John felt so lost when he returned from Afghanistan and was stuck in a dingy flat with a pitiful army pension.

 

It’s so heartbreaking when you try so hard to help others and give them your all, but as soon as you need some help and support, those same people turn their backs or snicker at your perceived weakness. 

 

Isn’t it?

 

Jim was the first person in a long, long time that seemed to think that he could be worth something...even if they weren’t actually in a real relationship.  John thought back to his decision back in the change room that morning, and how this would be a trail run of what a relationship with Jim Moriarty would be like.  Well, Jim was already coming out ahead of pretty much everyone in his life that wasn’t Mrs. Hudson, so John decided that if Jim actually wanted him to move in after this luncheon was complete, he might as well make that leap.  Mrs. Hudson was really the only thing keeping him at 221B, but he could hear her voice saying that he “could stop by anytime for a cuppa John, stop being ridiculous and move in with the orange man”. 

 

If someone were to ask John to close his eyes and imagine what his life would be like 20 years ago, he would have probably said that he would have a wife, a few kids, and would try to have as peaceful a life as he could to make up for his hellish childhood.  But now, if he were to close his eyes right now in this very moment, he would imagine something quite astonishingly different.

 

And it was a _good_ astonishingly different.

 

Mr. Worth’s exasperated exhale shook John out of his reverie, and it appeared that he was finally going to explain why they had forced Jim to come to this meeting. 

 

“I will tell you both why we called you here to lunch, but I would ask for no interruptions until I have finished explaining everything.”  Mr. Worth looked pointedly at Lady Gainsborough, who John knew would love to supplement whatever words were going to come out of Mr. Worth’s mouth with a snide commentary.  She gave a huff and started to sip her soup, and John gave Jim’s hand a reassuring squeeze that Jim quickly reciprocated before Mr. Worth launched into his tale.

 

“Well, Jim, the reason why we have called you...and John to this lunch is because we have to sell Worth Manor.”

 

John looked over to see Jim’s reaction to this piece of news, and was confused by Jim’s response.  On the surface, Jim looked the picture of righteous fury and surprise with eyes narrowed and frown in place, but Jim’s finger was tapping out a completely different story.  In Morse code, Jim tapped out on the back of John’s hand:

 

.. / -.- -. --- .--

 

Which means “I know”

 

So somehow, Jim must have known about the sale that was pending, and wanted John to play along knowing that Jim somehow had an ace up his sleeve that he was just waiting to throw down.

 

Mr. Worth lifted his hand to quiet Jim before he could protest this ‘bombshell’ of news, and said “John, before I continue, I should explain: Worth Manor has been in our family for generations, passed down from father to son on the day of the son’s marriage, and the decision to sell it is not one that I take lightly.  However, the last few years have not been kind to us: my investments took a downturn, the stock of hats for Georgina’s fall collection was destroyed when the shipping boat was attacked by pirates, Richard couldn’t afford to continue his acting classes that he failed, and Mary was laid off due to budget cuts at the hospital where she was a nurse.  We thought that we were ruined, but then Georgina realized that if we sold Worth Manor, we could be able to at least support her new summer collection, pay for Richard’s classes, and buy a home in London where Mary and her family could live while she searches for a new placement.  So, when we placed the estate for sale, we luckily had a man who was interested in purchasing the property.  His name is Peter Newcomb, and he is a Canadian investor that has been looking for a property for his family so they have a place to stay while he is taking care of his business.  Since he can’t be here to see the property directly, his lawyer Mr. Wilkes has been taking care of the transaction.”

 

Mr. Worth paused from telling his tale, and took a sip of water before continuing.  “However, Jimmy, we have run into a problem.  You see, when I inherited Worth Manor from your grandfather when I married your mother, your grandfather didn’t take his name off of the deed to the manor and the estate.  Thus, we can’t sell the land unless he agrees to the transaction.  But you know how your grandfather is, and he would never allow the Worth family lands to be owned by anyone who isn’t a Worth, let alone a _Canadian_.  So, we must convince him to sell the land by the end of the month, which only gives us 15 days to act, or Mr. Newcomb will pull out of the sale.  Mr. Newcomb was willing to give us an advance on part of the payment for the property, and Richard has already spent most of his on his acting and Georgina needed to get her next line of hats out as soon as possible.  So, if we cannot get your grandfather to sign the bill of sale by the deadline, Mr. Newcomb will bring legal action against us and we may still lose the property.”

 

Jim and John sat in silence for a moment, and then Jim sarcastically replied, “So, it seems _Father_ that the part that I’m missing, and correct me John if I’m wrong, is why on Earth this regards us?  Why would I _want_ you to sell the home that I am _supposed_ to inherit after I am married, just so you can spend the money from that sale on your step-children that are not even of the Worth family?  What could you possibly offer me in return for giving up my _beloved_ childhood home that has _oh so many_ precious memories?”

 

Jim leaned back in his chair, and gave John’s hand a quick squeeze before pulling their entwined hands above the table.  Lady Gainsborough’s quickly reddening face showed that she clearly got the message that Jim was trying to send: that he and John would probably be getting married soon, which would fulfill the Worth’s tradition of passing on the estate to the eldest son when they married.  John’s heart fluttered at the thought of marriage, but the more rational part of his brain reminded John that this whole afternoon was a fake and John shouldn’t get his new-found hopes up so soon.

 

Mr. Worth tried and failed to subtly wipe the accumulating beads of sweat from his moustache, and pressed on saying “What I can offer you, Jimmy, is what should have always been yours from the start – the Falls.  You see, John, Jimmy’s mother Jean was so fascinated with these series of waterfalls that were on the property beside the Worth estate.  When Jimmy was born, the land that those falls were on went up for sale, and she used the majority of her savings to purchase those falls for Jimmy to have when he got older.  However, since Jimmy was only but a babe, I suggested that my name be put on the deed along with his so that I could manage the land until he was ready to own it.  Jimmy, I know that you have asked for that land for years since your mother passed, and I have been a selfish man in my grief for your dear mother that I would not remove my name from the deed.  I always felt that the Falls were a piece of her, and I was selfish for denying you what she always wanted you to have in the first place.  If you help us convince your grandfather to let us sell the Worth Manor, I will take my name off the deed for the Falls and it will be yours to do with as you please, as your mother intended.  Your grandfather is having his 97th birthday party next week, so we were aiming for you to propose the idea to him then.  That would give us enough time to finalize the sale.”

 

Mr. Worth folded his hands in front of him on the table, and stared at Jim waiting for his response.

 

John knew from the look on Jim’s face that he was giving this proposal some serious thought.  Earlier that morning, John thought that Jim’s referral to waterfalls in regards to his mother’s death was a metaphor, but it seemed that there were literally waterfalls that Jim had been denied rightful ownership of for over 20 years.

 

Jim slowly replied, “If I decide to do this, I need it in writing that you are going to take your name off the deed for the Falls.  It will be drawn up by my lawyer and signed in front of witnesses so that you can’t back out of it or find some sort of convenient loophole that will allow you to keep the lands for yourself.”

 

“But of course.”  Mr. Worth replied, quickly putting his hand on Lady Gainsborough’s shoulder to keep her from making a comment that John knew would likely make Jim reconsider the proposal.

 

Jim said in silence for a few more moments, and then added, “Fine, I will talk to Grandfather about selling the land, but you are going to sign over the land to me regardless of the outcome of that talk.  As you know, Grandfather is a very stubborn man, and you cannot deny me what Mother wanted just because you want to use it as leverage.”

 

Mr. Worth nodded, and said “I guess that’s the best I can ask for.”

 

Jim looked sideways at John and said, “Well, if that is all, John and I won’t be staying for dessert.  We have apartments to look at downtown and we can’t be delayed any longer.  Send me the information regarding Grandfather’s birthday, and I’ll see what I can do.”

 

John added as he stood up from the table, “It was a...pleasure meeting you both, and I guess I’ll be seeing you at the party then. Oh, don’t forget to catch Jim’s appearance on the telly in that documentary, I will have to make sure I’m back from the surgery in time to see the whole thing.”

John loved the look of displeasure that crossed Lady Gainsborough’s face at the thought of Jim’s accomplishments in comparison to her own hellspawn, and John thought, “I really shouldn’t take such pleasure in another person’s torment...but I think in this case Jim could totally forgive me for the satisfaction I get from watching that woman get riled up under her stupid hat.”

 

Jim gave John a quick smile, and walked to the maître d’ where Jim settled their portion of the bill.  Jim put his finger on his lips to indicate that John shouldn’t ask any questions until they were out of earshot of the restaurant, and they stepped into the cab that was waiting with door open for them at the curb in front of the restaurant.

 

Finally, once they took their seats at the back of the cab, John couldn’t keep his silence any longer and he exclaimed, “Oh what a BITCH! I can’t believe that you had to put up with that...that... _creature_ for so many years!”

 

Jim chuckled and replied, “Well, Johnny boy, I did tell you that she and my father were the absolute worst.”

 

“And...and...that HAT!” John sputtered, “That had to be the ugliest hat in bloody existence.  No wonder they are so far in the hole if they are relying on actual sane people to buy those hats and wear them in front of actual PEOPLE!”

 

Jim started to laugh a bit harder and replied, “Oh, Milkshake, you have no idea how much I had to pay those pirates to burn those bloody hats, they were terrified to go near the damn things.  Apparently in their homeland, some of the patterns that she had picked for the hats spoke of death and unspeakable damnation to all those who touched them.”

 

John paused for a second, and then started laughing hysterically, tears streaming from his eyes, “That was YOU!?! No, stupid question, of COURSE it had to be you! Bloody _pirates_ indeed! I’m assuming that Mary losing her job, Richard failing his stupid acting class, and your Father’s failing investments were all your doing as well?”

 

Jim also joined in John’s hysterical laughter, saying “Didn’t the pirates give it away? Yes to Mary and my Father, but Richard failing his acting classes was 100% his own doing.  Honey, I _have_ to show you the footage of when Richard found out that he not only failed his acting class, but he still had to pay for it!  He threw the most hilarious temper tantrum, he actually fell down a flight of stairs!”

 

This set off another round of giggles as the cab slowly merged into London traffic, and as their laughter died down, John came to another, more important realization.

 

“Wait a minute...when your father said that he was selling the land, you tapped out to me that you knew that the sale was taking place...how would you...NO...seriously, that’s brilliant!”  John exclaimed.

 

A shark-like grin took over Jim’s face and he said “Yes, Johnny boy, you’re looking at the one and only Peter Newcomb, Canadian investor.  You know, with all these secret identities, you would think that I was Batman.  You could be my Robin, I bet you would look perfectly _edible_ in a pair of tights.”

 

John laughed, replying, “If you want to see me in a pair of tights, you are going to need to take me on at least three more dates, and provide plenty of alcohol.”

 

Both men were silent for a moment, and took in what exactly John was insinuating with that comment.

 

“Would...If you are game...I...I would like to try actually dating...for real...” John said quietly, looking at Jim in the eye to show that he was serious.  “I have had more fun...and felt more cared about in the one afternoon we’ve spent together today than I have with anyone in a very long time...and I would maybe like to explore this...only if you wanted to of course.”

 

The smile that blossomed on Jim’s face was breathtaking, and Jim replied, “I would absolutely be game, Johnny boy, if you are serious about dating a psychopath like me.”

 

John exhaled loudly and said, “I am serious about this, and don’t put yourself down, you are fantastic.”  John continued, leaning back in his seat and said, “I think that’s the best piece of news that I’ve heard all day.”

 

Jim’s smile grew fond, and looking John in his dark blue eyes, Jim replied softly “Me too, Johnny boy, me too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we have it! But don't think that the story's over just yet! We still have to see how Sherlock will react, what John is going to get Grandfather Worth for his birthday, meeting the Worth family, and finding out where on earth Jim is keeping the cell phone signal scrambler in his suit! ;)
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed this chapter, and comments are kudos are always welcome! Your comments always make my day, and totally got me through all of the studying that I had to do in the last few weeks!
> 
> P.S. If anyone can spot the original Batman quotes, then you win a fictional hug from Jim and John ;)
> 
> P.P.S. If anyone can figure out where Peter Newcomb and Evan Worth's name comes from, they win TWO fictional hugs from Jim and John :D


	10. Lovely Lonely Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the cab ride concludes, an offer is made, and talents are discovered, in that order.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone, and here's a special Happy Birthday update for the amazing actor who brings us our favourite consulting criminal, Andrew Scott!!! 
> 
> I'm so sorry for the delay with this update, I've been dealing with some health issues for the last 2 months that have affected my eyes and ability to see, making it extremely difficult to write. I know I've definitely missed the adventures of our orange man and his milkshake, so without further ado, here's the latest update!

 

_“This lovely lonely man, I’ve only known a day.  I look at him, and cannot look away.  Oh what a love, oh what a lovely lonely man.” – Truly Scrumptious_

 

Previously on Chitty Chitty Bang Bang:

_“Would...If you are game...I...I would like to try actually dating...for real...” John said quietly, looking at Jim in the eye to show that he was serious.  “I have had more fun...and felt more cared about in the one afternoon we’ve spent together today than I have with anyone in a very long time...and I would maybe like to explore this...only if you wanted to of course.”_

_The smile that blossomed on Jim’s face was breathtaking, and Jim replied, “I would absolutely be game, Johnny boy, if you are serious about dating a psychopath like me.”_

_John exhaled loudly and said, “I am serious about this, and don’t put yourself down, you are fantastic.”  John continued, leaning back in his seat and said, “I think that’s the best piece of news that I’ve heard all day.”_

_Jim’s smile grew fond, and looking John in his dark blue eyes, Jim replied softly “Me too, Johnny boy, me too.”_

 

John held his breath as Jim slowly brought his hand up to John’s face and leaned in to kiss him.  John’s eyes fluttered closed as he felt the gentle brush of Jim’s lips against his, and lost himself in the feeling of Jim’s embrace as Jim pulled him closer and closed the gap between their torsos in the back seat.  The couple didn’t notice the sounds of the surrounding traffic as they travelled through the heart of London, as their focus solely laid upon one another as their kisses became more and more passionate.  John reached up and treaded his hands through the dark tresses of Jim’s hair, savouring the feeling of the silken locks passing through his fingers.  John shivered as he felt Jim gently nip at his bottom lip, and their kiss deepened as they raced through the city streets.  As the cab lurched to the left, John inadvertently pulled on Jim’s hair, making the latter groan in desire as a jolt of arousal ran through his body.  At the sound of Jim’s moan, John blushed darkly and the pair separated just as the cab came to a halt at the red light a block away from Baker Street.

 

Jim slicked his hair back into place with a smirk on his face as he said, “Well, Johnny boy, it seems like you keep hitting my kinks one after the other: nicknames, tights, now hair pulling.  Keep going and I’m sure you’ll have Bingo in no time at all.”

 

John didn’t know that he was capable of blushing so darkly, and coughed as he replied, “Don’t worry Jim, I didn’t get the name Three Continents Watson for being...unoriginal...in bed.”

 

If John had been paying attention to Jim’s eyes after his utterance of that sentence, he would have noticed the dilation of Jim’s pupils and a slight intake in breath as hundreds of possibilities teasingly danced across the consulting criminal’s brilliant mind.  However, John was more focused on the cab’s movement as the light changed colour, and felt a surprising sense of dread as the vehicle came into view 221B’s black door and idled in front of the door.

 

John did not understand why he was having such a visceral reaction to the sight of the flat; he had been in the same location only a few hours earlier and had felt perfectly fine.  Once John had moved into Baker Street and met Mrs. Hudson all those months ago, John had felt like he had a true home for the first time in his life. The Watson household was _definitely_ not a home, his barracks in the military were constantly changing, and the bedsit after Afghanistan was practically a prison cell.  Baker Street had been a beacon of hope to the man who felt so lost in a city that used to be so familiar to him.  However, over the last few months, Sherlock’s constant barrage of acidic remarks slowly eroded that feeling of safety and comfort John had one associated with Baker Street.  Even Mrs. Hudson’s constant support and biscuits couldn’t alleviate the sense of loneliness that continued to claw away at John’s heart.  John felt his stomach turn at the thought of having to walk up the stairs to the room he and Sherlock occupied, and the idea of Jim leaving and seeing Sherlock after all the horrible things he had said to John made his skin crawl with anxiety and his breathing quicken.

 

 

Jim was not blind to the sudden paleness that settled over the army doctor’s features, and decided that he definitely liked the delicious blush that had dusted John’s cheeks much better than the pallor John was currently sporting.  Jim’s trained eye was able to spot the minimal tremor that John must not have noticed in his left hand, and was able to easily conclude that John was extremely anxious about going into the flat that he shared with the insufferable know-it-all that called himself a consulting detective.  And Jim was honestly not surprised at John’s hesitation and dread regarding his living accommodations.  John H. Watson’s file, as long and detailed as it was, might as well have just contained one sentence that read: “An adrenaline junkie who is loyal to a fault, suffers from startling amounts of neglect, and is surprisingly protective of his tea and firearm.”  Jim knew from personal experience how a single person can light the match that destroys the place that you hold dear to your heart, how a single person can slowly poison everything that you love until everything that surrounds you is dark and rotten, and how a single person can make you feel so bad about yourself that you feel like you are undeserving of another’s help.  Sherlock Holmes had committed a terrible crime against John Watson: offering John a prison cell disguised as a refuge.  And Jim Moriarty would never let that happen to _his_ Milkshake.  _Never again._

 

Jim watched John take a deep breath and give Jim the most unconvincing smile known to man, and that included his _brother’s_ acting, so that was hard to beat.  “Well, I guess this is my stop.” John tried to say cheerfully, and moved to open the door to the cab and return to his gilded cage.  “I guess...you can just text me when you want to see me again, and we can try and figure something out.”

 

Many years later, Jim would fondly argue with John that it was a crazy moment of complete and utter insanity that made him say the words that left his mouth next.  They had only known each other a day, actually not even a whole day if you didn’t include the pool incident or their run-in at the lab. So, Jim later concluded that it could only be the firing of a faulty neuron synapse that was responsible for the total lapse of logical reason that made Jim, a certified genius, ask this positively stupid question to John Watson: “I have the perfect solution, Johnny Boy, why don’t you move in with me?”

 

John abruptly stopped his attempt to exit the cab, and spun around to face the consulting criminal that was trying to will the blush away from his cheeks.  “Did...did I hear you correctly? You want me to...move in with you?” John asked, and was not privy the fact that Jim’s inner voice was screaming ~~like a teenage girl~~ like a totally manly man in a complete panic.  “WHAT THE HELL! OH MY GOD! DID THOSE WORDS JUST LEAVE MY BLOODY MOUTH? SAY SOMETHING YOU FOOL, HE’S STARING AT YOU! THINK OF SOMETHING, USE THAT DAMN BRAIN OF YOURS!”, the voice screeched inside of Jim’s head, while on the outside Jim brushed an imaginary piece of lint off of his lapel to buy time while he thought of some excuse.

 

“I said, Johnny Boy, that you should just move in with me.  It really is the only logical choice.  You clearly hate the thought of going back to live with that imbecile, and Safe House 18 gets so _dreadfully_ lonely at night.  And anyways, you have been roaming around London with me for the better part of a day, and you didn’t really think that I was going to allow the Ice Man to track our every move?  What do you think is going to happen when you walk back into that flat and the consulting coat rack discovers that we are about to embark on a relationship?  You don’t think that the Ice Man will hesitate in locking you up and trying to pry my entire life story out of you?”  Jim stated, leaning back in his seat.  He did not like the touch of fear that had settled in John’s eyes and while Jim didn’t want to make John regret agreeing to be in a relationship with him, this had to be brought up sooner rather than later.

 

Jim saw that John was about to reply, but cut him off saying, “But I’ll tell you what, if you move in with me right now, I will make it worth your while.  Let’s do this like a game show, and I’ll show you some of the things that I can give you if we do this whole relationship thing.  First of all, behind Door #1, we have the fact that you will be living in a much better part of London, and get to travel around the world.  Behind Door #2, I will get you the best physiotherapist in the world to look at and fix your shoulder so you can quit that stupid job at that A&E and you can go back to doing what you love: being a surgeon.  Behind Door #3, you can call off this relationship whenever you want, and no harm will ever come to you and your loved ones.  Clean split, but we have to communicate.  I’ve been in too many instances where a lack of communication has led to near death, so I’d like to try and be as frank as we have been for the duration of this relationship.  If something’s bothering you, tell me about it, because I’d rather clear issues up before they become life-threatening.  Just as Sebastien, this is how I roll.  Behind Door #4, you will also have to put up with me as your boyfriend, so I don’t know if that’s a prize or a punishment...but I guess we’ll find out.”

 

John sat there stunned at Jim’s proposal, and took a second to take in all that the consulting criminal had laid out while the cab continued to idle outside of 221.  Jim was shocked when he suddenly found himself with a lap full of blonde army doctor, and realized that John was hugging him.  In a quiet voice, John replied, “No one, I mean no one, has _ever_ cared about me that much.” Jim could hear John clear his throat, and John continued saying “As much as I hate to admit it, you definitely have a point with Sh-Sherlock being a complete prat and how his meddling brother would not hesitate to throw me in a cell until I told him everything I know about you.  Which I hope you know would NEVER happen.  So...um… I guess I need to start packing.” Jim absolutely _adored_ the blush that had been restored to John’s cheeks as the doctor loosened the hug so his arms were still clasped behind Jim’s neck, and Jim absolutely _loved_ the feeling of John’s warm body in between his arms.

 

“I can lend a hand with the packing...if you wanted.” Jim offered, continuing to relish the fact that despite John’s words, the man had not made any attempt to leave Jim’s arms. 

 

John chuckled, and replied, “Honestly, there is probably not that much to pack, so we can do it now, unless you have other things to do?”

 

“I’ve got nothing but time today, Milkshake.” Jim winked, and he turned to the cab driver and told him to stay by the curb until they returned.  John’s blush didn’t abate until after they made their way out of the cab, and Jim heard the click of the lock as John opened the front door of 221 for what would hopefully be the last time. 

 

The two men made their way up the dark stairwell, and Jim heard John mumble something about his landlady as they approached the door to the infamous flat.  “Don’t worry about your landlady, John.  I’m sure she’ll be happy to see you getting out from under that consulting narcissist’s thumb once and for all.  And I will make sure that she’s compensated for your part of the rent.” John once again stopped at the landing in front of 221B and turned to face Jim, and said, “How did you- wait, don’t answer that.  I hope that you know that I don’t need any of those things that you mentioned in the cab that are the ‘perks’ of going out with you.  All I need is you, and I want you to be yourself if this is going to work.  No Jim from IT, no Consulting Criminal, no Jimmy Worth, I just want the unfiltered, undiluted, 100% concentrate Jim.  I will never be able to buy you amazing things, I have PTSD, a psychosomatic limp, I watch too much crap telly, I get upset when people steal my tea, and I have bad days.  So that’s the John that you are going to be getting, but I’ll do my best to be the best damn boyfriend you could ever have.  And if you get sick of me, just tell me and I’ll find…somewhere to go.”

 

Jim shook his head and chuckled, “Well aren’t we a bunch of saps? I just want to let you know right off the bat that I have more money than could be spent in several lifetimes, so you better get used to having me buy you random things.  It’s how I show affection.  We can call it “The John Watson Appreciation Fund” if that makes it better.  I take care of my own, and let me tell you right now that if I were to count the number of people who fall into that category on one hand, I’d still have 2 fingers left.  So, let’s move you out of this biohazard of a flat and get you to a place where you don’t have to worry if someone’s severed head is in the fridge.”

 

John smiled and replied, “That’s actually happened before, you know.  The severed head in the fridge part, not the having ridiculous amounts of money to throw around part” as he reached into his jacket to pull out his keys.  With a soft ‘click’ the door swung open and Jim looked around in poorly concealed glee as he took in the natural habitat of John Watson and the thorn in his side Sherlock Holmes. However, Jim’s excitement started to wane as he noticed that none of the things he was surrounded in were John’s except for a laptop.  Papers, pictures, a random skull, the books in the bookshelf, the knickknacks around the living room, the furniture, and the miscellaneous pieces of chemistry equipment all spoke of Sherlock Holmes, but there was no trace of the doctor anywhere besides the fact that the mess was somewhat organized. “Umm… I guess I should head upstairs to my room first, there’s probably not a lot to pack, and I have my spare duffel in my closet that everything should fit into.  Oh! Actually, could you go in the kitchen, straight through there, and grab my box of tea from the cabinet above the sink and my RAMC mug?” John asked as he pointed in the direction of the kitchen, and after Jim nodded his assent John started to make his way upstairs.

 

Jim’s hope that the doctor had at least been able to make an impression on the kitchen was dashed when he saw the piles of improperly sealed chemicals, lab equipment, and severed limbs that graced every feasible kitchen surface.  Jim made his way towards the cabinet that John had indicated, and some of his hope was restored when he saw an elegantly carved box sitting at the far back of the shelf beside the mentioned RAMC mug.  Removing both items from their perch, Jim was surprised to see that the beautiful carvings of leaves and branches extended to the top of the box, where the name ‘John Watson’ was spelled using the same branches with a beautiful engraving of a magpie on each corner of the box.  “Four magpies…a boy? No, obvious…a birth…irrelevant…ahh, four magpies for a new beginning. Makes sense, given his lack of a good family life, and the damage to the upper left corner means that this box has seen some action, so he most likely took this with him to Afghanistan.” Jim deduced as he rotated the box in his hands, taking in all of the details on each individual leaf and the feathers on each bird. Opening the small latch on the front, Jim couldn’t help but admire all of the individual packages of tea that were organized in the box.  Teas from around the world all sat in rows labelled with the doctor’s careful handwriting, specifying not only the type of tea and where it was from, but also who gave it to him.  The mixed aromas coming from the box gently wafted to Jim’s nose, and he couldn’t help but inhale the rich scent of spice and comfort.  Jim gently closed the box, and made his way out of the kitchen to see how John was doing upstairs.  Fully opening the door to John’s room revealed bare walls, a single bed made with military precision, and his new boyfriend/flatmate carefully placing the last of jumpers and purchases from this afternoon in a large army duffle bag and a trunk on the floor.  “Here’s your box of tea, it’s beautiful.  I didn’t realize that you were a wood carver.” Jim commented, sitting down on the appallingly hard mattress and setting the tea box and mug on the dreadfully rough sheets.  John, blushing with embarrassment, put his hand behind his head and explained “My grandfather taught me how to carve when I was a boy and I stayed at his cabin during the summers, but I never really had the opportunity to continue at home.  So, once I joined the army, there really wasn’t anything to do in between patrols so I took it up again.  I carved that box throughout my first tour, and I have been collecting tea ever since.  Maybe…I could make you a cuppa once we get to your flat?” 

 

“Adorable.  Just freaking adorable.  How can a person be this bloody adorable and still be able to shoot a cabby from an adjacent building without hesitating?” Jim thought as he listened to John’s explanation and took in John’s obvious joy in both of his pass-times.  “Definitely,” Jim replied, standing up and walking towards John so he could wrap his arms around the army doctor’s waist.  Something deep in Jim purred in satisfaction when John automatically wrapped his arms around the consulting criminal’s neck and started to subconsciously play with Jim’s hair.  Jim could get used to this.  “I want to have a cup of that amazing tea every day, and I would _love_ to be able to add to that collection where ever we go.” John’s bashful smile turned more excited at the prospect of travelling, and he replied, “That would be amazing!  Well, we should probably get going to your flat before my idiot of a flatmate comes back.  I’m pretty sure that I’ve got everything.”  Jim couldn’t help but give John a quick peck on the lips, and was pleased when he could feel John’s smile under his lips, before the two separated.  John carefully placed the tea box and mug in the duffle, and quickly ran into the washroom to grab his toiletries before zipping up the bag. Jim gulped as he watched John effortlessly hoist the large duffle bag over his shoulder, that arousal from earlier sparking dangerously as Jim struggled to avoid thinking about just how many muscles the army doctor was hiding under that jumper.  “I’ll take the trunk then, Johnny Boy.”  Jim said, grabbing the two handles and following John back downstairs.

 

“I’m just going to run downstairs quickly to see if Mrs. Hudson’s back, and I’ll give her the keys.  Could you grab my laptop?” John commented, and Jim replied with a quick “Sure thing Milkshake” as he watched the army doctor make his way out the door and down the stairs.  Jim walked over to the table that was covered with casefiles and carefully extracted the laptop from the pile.  Hearing the land-lady’s “Oh hello John!” echoing from the first floor, Jim was glad that they would not have to come back to Baker Street for John to say goodbye to his beloved Mrs. Hudson. 

 

Left with his own thoughts for the next few minutes, Jim looked down in dismay when he saw how little the army doctor had in terms of belongings, and how never truly having a place to call home must have made the man subconsciously avoid buying many luxury items for himself.  Even when Jim had been shepherded off to boarding school, he had enough random belongings to warrant at least 5 trips up and down the stairs.  It saddened Jim to think that John, this beautiful, lovely, but ultimately lonely man could fit everything that was meaningful to him in an army duffle and a trunk.  Sherlock had never given John the opportunity to truly flourish in 221B, not that the consulting detective would dare let John cast his own shadow or leave his own imprint on the flat that the two were supposed to _co_ -inhabit.  And John would have never pushed to have his own space besides his tiny cramped and bare bedroom, or ask for anything more than a single marginally uncontaminated cabinet to place his treasured tea box.  John H. Watson was clearly not used to asking for things thanks to his upbringing, especially material things, and Jim Moriarty was going to put an end to that.  Jim was going to have fun truly _spoiling_ this man, and more importantly, have fun taking off the army doctor’s pants with his teeth at the soonest possible moment.  Jim was shaken out of his reverie by the sound of John making his way back up the stairs, brushing his eyes that definitely were not red with unshed tears as he took the laptop from Jim with a soft “Thanks” and lifted the duffle bag once more.  “Mrs. Hudson was fine with me moving out, but I promised that we would meet her for tea at least once a week…if that’s ok with you?”  John asked, but Jim could see the doctor’s nerves with asking for this simple request in the way that John nail scraped over the strap of the bag.  “Of course we can, Milkshake,” Jim replied, picking up the trunk again as the two made their way out of the flat and down the stairs “As long as she stops calling me the Orange Man.”

 

And John’s beautiful chorus of giggles as the two made their way down the stairs away from the horrid prison of 221B, was like music to Jim’s ears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I hope you all enjoyed this latest update, and who knows where the next update will take us? Will we learn more about why John is so close to Mrs. Hudson? Will we find out where Sherlock has been all this time? Will we find out of Jim makes good on his promise of removing pieces of clothing with his teeth? Stay tuned for more ;)


	11. Drowning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Mind Palace is visited, blame is tossed around, and a cartoon is watched, not necessarily in that order.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my lovelies! I am so sorry that it took so long to get this next chapter up and running, life has been a bit of a chaos as of late, but the wait is over! :) I hope you all enjoy this chapter!!

_First Spy: “What do we do now?”_

_Second Spy: “Start swimming!”_

_First Spy: “I can’t swim!”_

_Second Spy: “Then start drowning!”_

 

If an interior decorator were to have entered the second floor flat of 221 Baker Street a week ago, they would have first cringed in horror at the clashing furniture, the papers strewn across every possible surface, the knife that was stuck in the mantle of the fireplace, and shielded their eyes from the monstrosity that was the kitchen.  However, if they looked closer at the contents of the flat, they would have realized that there was faint, but definitely present, underlying sense of order in the space. A calm amongst the storm that indicated that there was a second force responsible for taming the wildness that permeated between the bullet-laden walls of 221B.  This order manifested itself in the fact that the cushions of the couch and lounge chairs were always upright and placed correctly, the fact that the biohazardous experiments in the kitchen never made their way towards the stove or kettle, the fact that stacks of paper were always restricted to a table or a flat surface that wasn’t the floor, and the fact that any mugs that were used to hold beverages were always washed and kept in their cupboard.  This unknown force of order kept the flat from descending into complete chaos, and the interior decorator would have argued that it was that force that allowed the flat to work and stay liveable despite the hazards that the flat posed to its occupants. 

 

However, if that same interior decorator were to walk into 221B now, the sight that befell their eyes would have caused them to run away screaming in terror.  For that unknown force had clearly vanished, leaving a slice of Armageddon in its wake.  Papers littered the floors, walls, and almost every other surface, all connected by various bits of string that had been clearly stolen from the seams of the sofa cushions.  The carcasses of the aforementioned cushions lay in a pile in the corner, accompanied by the shards of various shattered test tubes.  Mugs were scattered around the table with only a few containing tea or coffee, as the majority held multiple shots of brandy from the large bottle that sat open behind the pipes of the sink in the kitchen.  And in the epicentre of this hurricane was the individual that was responsible for it, the one and only Sherlock Holmes. 

 

Sherlock, like the rest of his flat, looked as if someone had taken a leaf blower and decided that turning it on an spinning in a circle in an enclosed space was a good life choice.  Sherlock’s once smooth and styled hair was now greasy and resembled a bird’s nest, his robe had numerous stains adorning its front, he was only wearing one sock, and his shirt was on backwards.  If any member of Scotland Yard had have seen the flat and its occupant looking the way they did, it would have triggered a full-department search quicker than you could say ‘drugs bust’.  However, drugs were actually the furthest thing from Sherlock’s mind as he laid supine on the remains of the sofa, hands steepled under his chin.

 

If a person were to somehow gain mystical powers and have the ability to look into Sherlock’s Mind Palace a week ago, they would have been in awe of the brilliance and organization that existed in the man’s mind.  Sherlock’s Mind Palace was not actually a palace, it was in fact a replica of the Holmes Mansion where Sherlock grew up, but some rooms were subbed out for more useful rooms such as the lab from St. Bart’s and a much more impressive library.  The Mind Palace was a place where Sherlock would often retreat to pull of the information from a crime scene together, and what allowed his deductions to flow forward from his plethora of knowledge.  However, the Mind Palace now looked more like it was on Day 5 of a full-on siege, with mounds of bricks scattered around the lawn, shattered windows, and a slew of destruction.

 

_Sherlock stood in horror as he materialized in front of his beloved Mind Palace and stepped over several piles of brick as he made his way to the front door that had been blown off its hinges.  The inside of the house was no better, as pieces of glass laid everywhere, books were ripped with their pages scattered, and suddenly a younger teenage version of Sherlock wearing a lab coat ran up to him._

_“Sherlock! The lab is a disaster! There was a massive explosion, and now all of the organic chemistry information is mixed up with the microbiology information, the footprint analysis is confused with the blood spatter patterns, and don’t even get me started on the toxicology information! What the hell happened?” The young Sherlock shouted, pushing his lab goggles up on the top of his head._

_“What happened isn’t important, you have to reorganize that information immediately!  The lab is one of the most important roo-“, Sherlock started to yell, but suddenly a large shockwave rocked the house, and the pair could hear the China from the dining room crash to the ground.  Both men cringed, and turned to the sound of another pair of feet approaching the entryway.  A slightly older version of Sherlock appeared, arms full of books and papers, while trying to simultaneously drag a cart that was laden with similar items._

_“The library is a complete write-off, it will take me months to sort through all of this information and index it again.  The last earthquake knocked down 5 bookshelves in the library in a chain reaction, and a huge gust of wind managed to carry half of those papers around the entire house! You have to help me!” This Sherlock cried, as he kept trying to organize the papers in vain._

_“What do you MEAN the bookshelves knocked over? Didn’t we do that renovation last month?” Sherlock demanded, but before he could get a response, another Sherlock that seemed to be the same age as his current self, marched up to the three and grabbed Sherlock by the shirt.  “What is the meaning of this?” The new Sherlock demanded, walking Sherlock back until he made contact with the wall.  “I go to fix my hair for five minutes so I can go to the John Wing and be constantly complimented, and suddenly that whole wing is gone and the house looks like a bomb went off!  I demand an explanation!”_

_All three men encircled Sherlock, demanding to know what happened to the John Wing of the palace, and what he was going to do about it.  Suddenly, Sherlock felt a tug on his pant leg, and he looked down to see a much younger version of himself, probably from when he was about 6 years old, who was wearing a pirate hat that was crooked on his head.  In his other hand he held a wooden sword, and a large dog followed at his heels._

_“Sh-lock, where’s Jawn?  We were in the middle of playin’ pirates and he just disappeared! I was captain of the ship, cuz I’m always captain, and Jawn was just whinin’ and whinin’ about how he never gets to be the captain.  I went to tell him that he was stupid and that I have to always be the captain, but then he was gone! Why is he gone?”  The youngest Sherlock demanded, stomping his foot on the ground as a sign of his righteous fury._

_Sherlock, finally having enough of this, roared, “JOHN WATSON IS GONE! HE’S LEFT! HE’S GONE AND HE’S NEVER COMING BACK! DO YOU UNDERSTAND!  HE COULDN’T HANDLE BEING SECOND-BEST, SO HE RAN AWAY, LIKE HE ALWAYS DOES WHEN HE’S THREATED BY SOMEONE BETTER THAN HIM!”_

 

_All four Sherlock’s jumped back in fear, and the youngest Sherlock started to cry.  “But-but- he was my best friend! Why did he have to leave?  What did you do? You’re always doing something to make ‘em always go away.  It’s all your fault!”_

_The other Sherlock’s nodded in agreement, and all of them started to chant “All your fault, all your fault”, and they increased in volume as they backed him out of the entryway, and out onto the yard.  “ALL YOUR FAULT! ALL YOUR FAULT!” They shrieked, and Sherlock tripped on a stray brick and fell down with his arms sprawled behind him.  The four faces started to get closer and closer, screaming their accusation as Sherlock tried to move away from their drilling gaze and-_

Sherlock’s eyes flew open, he bolted upright, and he took a huge breath as if he were a drowning man receiving his first taste of blessed oxygen.  It took Sherlock a few minutes to realize where he was, and he could still hear the echoes of his Mind Palace seeping through to his consciousness where they laid as a constant whisper of guilt.

 

Sherlock sat back on the sofa, drinking in the state of his flat, and took a deep breath in a pitiful attempt to ground himself.  And the thing was that as much as he was in denial of the situation, he knew deep down in his psyche that John’s departure _was_ his fault, and also John’s newfound relationship to that-that viper.  It was the latter point that was what drove Sherlock to open the large bottle of brandy that was once gifted to him by a client for finding her not-so-dead husband and started taking more shots than an army during target practice.  And Sherlock would have accepted that John had moved out because of their argument, he would have been perfectly fine living with the fact that John had left him, well, their flat because of the cruel things that he had said.  To be honest, Sherlock was still surprised that John lasted so long as a flatmate.  No, the true reason for his binge drinking was the fact that _Jim Moriarty_ was the one that picked John up and must have seen _something_ in the army doctor that Sherlock missed.

 

Because there’s always something.

 

And it seemed like that one thing was the fact that Sherlock’s ‘conductor of light’ was actually a spark of flame, and only needed some time, effort, and attention to burn to its full brightness and warmth. 

 

Sherlock had missed that spark because he was blinded by his own ego, and for the rest of his life Sherlock would regret that fact.

 

* * *

 

_One Week Ago…_

 

Sherlock slammed the door of 221B closed as he stalked into the flat, calling out “John! John! Stop this childishness this INSTANT! Come out here and at least have the courage to tell me that you are mad at me to my FACE!”

 

However, silence was all that followed as the clock on the mantel continued to tick on the mantel place.  Taking a look at the flat in more detail, Sherlock noticed that something was…off about the flat, something off-kilter, a sense of _wrongness_ that permeated throughout the flat.  Slowly turning around, Sherlock noticed that John’s laptop was gone from the table, and upon opening the cabinet above the sink, there were two gaps in the dust showing where John’s box of tea and the doctor’s RAMC mug used to sit.

 

Sherlock stood there, shocked, at the fact that these two items were gone from their designated spots.  Shaking himself from his reverie, Sherlock ran up the stairs to John’s room shouting “JOHN! Where the hell are you, you complete twa-“, but he was cut off at the sight of John’s completely empty room meeting him.  Sherlock slowly walked into John’s room, and saw that the former army captain’s closet was empty and all of his belongings were vanished.

 

“That is no way to endear Captain Watson to you, brother mine.” Sherlock jumped as he heard his brother’s voice from immediately behind him, and saw Mycroft leaning against the doorframe nonchalantly.

 

“Where have you taken him!” Sherlock shouted, stalking towards his brother in anger.

“I have done nothing to Dr. Watson, unlike yourself, it appears.”  Mycroft said, turning around and walking down the stairs to return to 221B’s sitting room.  Sherlock reluctantly followed his brother and took a seat in his black leather chair because it appeared that he would have to pander to his brother’s love from theatrics before getting a straight answer out of him.

 

“And just where is John?” Sherlock said, wrapping himself in the folds of his Belstaff that he forgot to remove upon entering the flat.

 

“That, Sherlock, is something that not even my best hackers can answer.”  Mycroft conceded, taking a seat in the red chair and setting his umbrella against the chair’s arm.  “At precisely 7:14am this morning, John Watson fell completely off the grid.  Not a single satellite, not a single CCTV, not a single person can verify where John Watson has been since that time this morning.  You ripped out some of the security cameras I had installed in the flat last week, and John found and destroyed the final 4 a few days ago.  His phone hasn’t been answered, and I tried calling him… _Twice_.”

 

Sherlock looked up in alarm, “You called him _twice_ and he didn’t answer?”

 

“Indeed.”  Mycroft replied, trying but failing to hide the worry and irritation he felt at having a piece on the board hidden from his view.  “So, brother mine, there are two conclusions that we can safely assume.  One is that John has somehow been kidnapped and we should be hearing from his captors soon about a ransom, or the other is that John has somehow come into contact with someone who has access to that type of technology and he has intentionally fallen off our radar.  Here is a copy of the file we have on Dr. Watson’s whereabouts this morning, we need to track him down and find out how he did his vanishing act.”  Mycroft reached inside his suit coat pocket and pulled out a USB that contained the aforementioned information, and he set it down on the small table beside the red chair.

 

“Do keep in touch, brother, I will return in a few days to see your progress.”  And with that, Mycroft picked up his umbrella and left the flat.

 

The next few hours saw Sherlock printing off each page from the USB and tacking them everywhere around the flat, covering the smiley face on the wall, covering the sofa, and the large coffee table.  Sherlock tried in vain for several hours to piece together the lack of information before him, and he started to pace back and forth in the living room becoming increasingly agitated.

 

A soft knock echoed through the flat, drawing Sherlock from his reverie, and Mrs. Hudson entered the flat trying not to look shocked at the mess.  “Sherlock, John told me to give this to you after he left.”  Mrs. Hudson offered Sherlock a folded piece of paper.

 

“What? John came back to the apartment himself? It wasn’t another person who entered?” Sherlock asked feverishly, snatching the piece of paper out of Mrs. Hudson’s hand.

 

Mrs. Hudson shook her head at Sherlock’s rudeness, and replied, “Yes, he came and gathered his things this afternoon.  He told me that he couldn’t stand to live with such a horrible friend so he was moving out and then he left with his boyfriend.”

 

Sherlock’s mouth opened in shock and he couldn’t decide which piece of information that Mrs. Hudson told him was more alarming.

 

“His…his _boyfriend_? And who exactly was _THAT_?” Sherlock demanded, fist clenching the unread piece of paper in his hand.

 

“I never met him before, he seemed like such a nice lad, the strong type that can provide for their family.  John deserves a nice lad like that in his life, you took him for granted, Sherlock!  Well, it’s all in that letter, I suppose.  I didn’t read it, but John told me to give that to you when he dropped off his key.”  Mrs. Hudson sniffed, wiped her eyes with her handkerchief, and turned away from the consulting detective that she used to think of as a strange, quirky, son.

 

Sherlock didn’t watch Mrs. Hudson go as he opened the folded piece of paper in his hands, and started to read the words that John had left him on its surface:

 

_Sherlock Holmes,_

_I just want you to know that you have your wish, I’m moving out of 221B.  I am tired of being taken for granted, tired of being your servant, and tired of being your bloody lap dog.  If you can’t recognize by now that you can’t treat people as poorly as you have treated me, then it’s going to take you a long time to find another flatmate.  I don’t care what you say, caring about people is NEVER a mistake, and if you had have cared about me for even a second, then maybe we wouldn’t be in this situation._

_I guess we’ll never know, will we?_

_Don’t bother trying to find me, because you won’t succeed, so just please give me this one thing and just let me be?  I’ll go my way, and you’ll go yours, and maybe someday we can both learn to be happy, or at least at peace, with the ways we have chosen for ourselves._

_John Watson_

 

Sherlock’s hands started to wrinkle the page with the force at which he was clenching the paper, and he lost track of the hours he read the words over and over until they were blurry from the darkness of the evening that had settled over London.

 

However, instead of being deterred, Sherlock threw everything that his mind could give into finding out where John went once he left 221B.  The sofa cushions were shredded for thread to connect different grainy video feeds together, papers soon covered every surface including the floor, and Sherlock slowly descended into a hell of his own making that rivaled that of which Dante could imagine in the week that followed.

 

And then, at the end of the first week of wondering what had happened to John, the TV turned on.

 

All by itself.

 

Sherlock was aroused from the stupor that he had descended into by the sound of static coming from the television.  He felt around the couch that he was lying on for the remote but noticed that the remote sat untouched on the floor beside the living room table.

 

Sherlock looked back at the TV, and suddenly a cartoon castle appeared on the screen surrounded by a lake.  Pan flute music started to play, and then suddenly HE appeared on screen.

 

Jim Moriarty, the Napoleon of Crime, his arch-nemesis, the Spider, and...apparently a children’s TV actor.

 

Moriarty gave a manic smile and said from the screen in a taunting voice, “Hello Sherrrrrlock! It has been _some_ time since we last spoke, hasn’t it?  Anywho, I bet you are wondering what I am doing on your television screen.  Well, I’m here to tell you a _fairy tale_ that you may be familiar with.  So sit back, panic, and enjoy the show!

 

Moriarty’s image vanished on the screen, and the camera zoomed in to the inside of the castle, showing mountains of treasure and an animated red dragon sitting on top of it all.

 

_“Once upon a time, there was a greedy dragon that lived in a castle that he had stolen from the Prince of the Realm.  And every day he would sit on his stolen hoard and count each piece of his treasure and determine how much wealth he had accumulated.  One day, there was a small but brave knight that stumbled upon the castle, and he realized that if he helped the dragon count all of his treasure, the dragon would finally leave his castle and go on fantastic adventures with the knight.  However, the dragon was a greedy, petty creature, and constantly insisted that the knight was not counting his treasure accurately and would make the knight start over and over again!  When the knight got fed up, he tried to leave, but then the mean dragon started to hold the beautiful knight hostage and prevented him from escaping.  The knight was very sad that he could no longer travel the realm and go one fantastic adventures, and he started to doubt himself.  However, that all changed one day when the Prince of the Realm returned to recapture his castle from the greedy dragon who was a talented bowman.  The greedy dragon left his castle and tried to kill the valiant Prince by casting fire down upon them.  But luckily the Prince had a special bow that allowed him to shoot the greedy dragon in the belly, and the greedy dragon fell into the lake surrounding the castle and he drown in its murky depths.  The beautiful knight raced out of the castle, saw who had saved him, and the Prince promised that the two of them would travel the realm together and forget that the greedy dragon had ever existed.”_

After the cartoon images of the Prince and knight faded away on the screen, the ‘show’ cut to a video that had been clearly taken with the camera on a mobile phone.  The room in the video was a state-of-the-art kitchen, and in the morning sunlight there stood a figure making some sort of food at the stove.  However, this figure was not any ordinary person.  The person standing in front of the stove was naked except for a pair of tantalizing red pants, and Sherlock’s eyes traced the dark purple love bites that trailed from the man’s calf muscle of his left leg, to his hip, to the three that were partially covered by the material of the red pants, all the way up broad shoulders to…a healed bullet wound at the man’s left shoulder.

 

Sherlock inhaled sharply as his mind put together all of these clues but couldn’t admit to himself what he was seeing.

 

Then Moriarty’s sing-song voice rang out to break the silence and said, “Hey, Johnny Boy, what do you have there?”  and the figure, undoubtedly one John Watson, turned around and gave Moriarty a smile so brilliant that it could have broken apart the stormiest of rainclouds and replied, “I’m just making some pancakes, love”, and the video ended.

 

The sound of the television’s static filled the flat as Sherlock sat there unable to move, feeling like he was trapped underwater trying to make sense of what he had just seen.  Sherlock didn’t recall walking to the kitchen and reaching behind the sink to grab the large bottle of brandy that was hidden there, but the burn of the alcohol down his throat shook him out of his haze momentarily.  Sherlock poured out more brandy into a chipped mug as he stumbled towards the coach, and he laid down on top of the papers that were scattered there.  And the one thought that kept playing over and over in the void that used to be the John Wing of his Mind Palace, adding to the chant of _‘All your fault!’,_ was _‘I’ve never seen John smile like that before’_.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there we have it! A little more angsty than I had intended, but this sets us up nicely for the road ahead. Specifically, finding out exactly how our Milkshake got those love bites ;) All of this, and more, in the next update. Thanks so much for reading!!


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